


Pasts Crossed

by nam_jai



Category: Charmed
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Brothers, Canon - Comics, Canon - TV, Gen, Revenge, Time Travel, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-24
Updated: 2014-11-02
Packaged: 2018-01-16 19:40:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 30
Words: 103,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1359457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nam_jai/pseuds/nam_jai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the end of the battle in the attic in "Chris-Crossed," Wyatt is thrown into the past, and Chris is stranded in the future. An AU of the second half of Season 6.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Includes plot and dialogue taken from the episodes _Prince Charmed_ , _The Legend of Sleepy Halliwell_ , and _I Dream of Phoebe_.

Chris ducked Wyatt's fireball and completed the spell:

_Send me back to where I'll find  
What I wish in place and time_

With a single crumple, Chris tore the page from the Book of Shadows and dashed toward the wall where the triquetra now blazed blue-white.

But a second fireball flew across his path, throwing him off balance as he skidded to avoid it. He wildly grabbed at whatever was at hand to break his fall, and took down a little wooden table with him, scattering glass potion bottles -- fake museum pieces that had never seen a spell.

Wyatt was back on his feet, and even if he looked a little bleary from the temporary knockout Chris had dealt him with that full body slam to the ceiling, Chris wasn't going to trust his fate to that. The spell page still in his grip, he hurled another blow of telekinesis at his brother.

It didn't work this time. For one, it turned out Chris couldn't send the energy so well with his hand in a fist; for another, Wyatt saw the move coming and dove to the floor, his hair barely ruffled while a nearby rocking chair made a weak spin.

But at least they were now both down.

_Enough of this. Run._

Chris scrambled to his feet as he plunged forward again.

Not fast enough. This time it wasn't a fireball that blocked him, but a stream of orb lights, their blue-white matching the triquetra. When Wyatt re-formed, the portal was a halo around him where he stood, dead center, blocking Chris's way to the past.

Momentum was sending Chris colliding right into his brother. More orbing lights -- this time a cloud around those potion bottles. They re-formed in a miniature meteor shower aimed at Chris's head. Chris was already throwing another blast of telekinesis, directionless and thrown sideways as he tried to dodge the pelting bottles -- but this time he opened his hand, releasing both the spell page and the full force of his magic. The blow caught Wyatt as Chris was spinning to the floor himself.

The triquetra flared, filling the dim attic with light. When the light died, there was merely a wooden wall, empty even of the chalk marks that had formed the symbol. The portal was closed.

And Wyatt?

Chris didn't get up from the floor this time. Dizzy, he crawled a few feet to pick up the dropped spell. There was broken glass in his hair and he caught a whiff of wormwood -- maybe, long ago, those bottles had held potions after all. _Wormwood, for protection, communication with the dead..._

Bianca lay a stretch of his arms away. But Chris did not, could not, look behind him. Instead, he stared at that now blank wall through which, amid the chaos moments before, he had accidentally flung Wyatt back into the past.


	2. Chapter 2

Wyatt was not used to his entrance being an undignified backward stumble-fall, with just enough sideways push to save him from landing right on his tailbone. Instead, he hit the side of a day bed, to the sounds of startled yelps. When he turned toward the noise, he found himself facing his parents and his aunts.

This had not been his plan. He had not been expecting this, but he had no time to be overcome with emotion at seeing his long-dead mother. Not when her hands were raised in a gesture that was still instantly familiar: She was on the verge of either freezing him or blowing him up. As he was a witch, freezing would do nothing to him, but he was pretty sure she could blow him up if she wanted.

Better instead to freeze the non-magical way -- stand perfectly still and not provoke her with sudden moves.

Phoebe spoke first. "Where's Chris?"

Nothing like being around _her_ again to suddenly become acutely aware of the rage and adrenaline still coursing through him, not yet dissipated from the fight with Chris. An old reflex kicked in, and he threw up mental barriers against Phoebe's empathic power. But the second she narrowed her eyes in response, he brought the barriers down again. By the time he was a teenager, he had learned ways to shut Phoebe out of his emotions, but he had never figured out how to shut her out from _knowing_ she was shut out. And in this new situation, better for her to know he was angry, still on a battle-high, than to think he was hiding something.

"Chris is back where he belongs." Wyatt slowly, carefully got to his feet.

Piper cut him short.

"Huh-uh. Don't move another inch. I may not be able to blow you back to wherever you came from, but I can sure as hell give it a try."

"See," Paige said, "we don't really appreciate someone kidnapping our Whitelighter."

"And stripping his powers," Phoebe added.

"Wait, your Whitelighter? Isn't _he_ your Whitelighter?" Wyatt pointed at Leo, who had been so far silent, letting the sisters take the lead.

Now Leo spoke up, his furrowed brow contrasting with his even tone: "The Elders made Chris the Charmed Ones' Whitelighter after he helped them defeat the Titans."

"He didn't 'help' the Charmed Ones defeat the Titans. They always defeated the Titans. And you just stepped aside for him? What are you doing?"

"How about you answer our questions?" Paige said. "What happened to Chris?"

"Chris is unhurt -- he's even got his powers back."

"You don't seem too happy about that," Phoebe said.

"Of course, I'm not happy. I'm trying to protect you, all of you, from his messing around with the past, and it's not so easy when people leave him spells under the attic floor to help him out. Was that you? Why do you trust him?"

"We don't," Piper said.

 _There it is_. She had told Wyatt exactly what he needed to know: Chris had never told them about his true identity. If Piper knew Chris was her son, she would trust him, period. She always had. He could almost feel sorry for Chris, having to face that distance in his mother's eyes. Poor kid wasn't used to it.

"But at least," Paige piped in, "Chris has been around long enough that we can trust him a little more than the latest guy to pop in uninvited from the future. And after the day we've had dealing with your hired gun, you're going to have to work a little harder to sell yourself."

"Let me ask you: Did Wyatt put up his shield around Chris? Because he won't around me. Why don't you ask him?"

Piper's voice could chill an Underworld abyss. "You leave my son out of this."

"That would be hard for me to do -- Mom."

The bombshell had the desired effect. Four faces stopped arguing with him and stared.

Leo broke the shocked silence: "You're saying you're Wyatt?"

"Do you have any other sons?" Wyatt looked between his parents and, for the first time, allowed himself a small smile.

"If you're Wyatt," Leo said, "then why are you after Chris? He told us he came here to protect Wyatt from something evil that was after him."

"Look at me." Wyatt spread his arms. "Grown-up, whole and healthy and powerful -- nothing 'evil' got to me. He lied. Or he's delusional. Either way, he's not the kind of person to be messing around with the timeline."

"Is that what you're here to do?" Paige asked.

"No. I'm not supposed to be here. Chris opened the portal. I kept him from coming back here, but ..." He gave a short, bitter laugh. "You saw the way I came through. It was an accident."

His frustration was rising. It didn't matter that it made sense for them to be suspicious. It had been a very long time since Wyatt had been doubted and interrogated. It had been -- well, _never_ since he had been treated as insignificant next to Chris. But his parents still looked shocked and uncertain, Paige was obviously skeptical, and Phoebe ... Phoebe was studying him with that _look_. That I'm-getting-into-your-soul-and-screw-your-privacy look.

"You could offer a little proof," Paige said. "If you're Wyatt, you should have the same powers. Orb something."

"No problem." He reached out a hand and silently called the one thing that would offer all the proof they could need: the Book of Shadows.

Nothing happened.

Paige looked from him to the Book. All four knew what he was trying for, he could tell, and nothing about it looked good for him.

 _Okay, no messing with the Book._ He picked a less ambitious target, and summoned a candle.

Nothing.

He had never had to speak aloud, like he knew Aunt Paige used to when she was a new witch, but now he tried that: "Candle!"

"Okay," Piper said, "this isn't working-"

"Dammit! I must have lost my powers coming to the past. And don't tell me what this proves or doesn't prove -- you know this can happen!"

"It didn't happened to Chris," Paige said.

"Yeah, but I told you, it was an accident that I came through that portal. Chris opened it. He said the spell, but I went through. That's got to be where it went wrong."

Paige threw her hands up as she said to the others, "Now what?"

Wyatt responded, "How the hell should I--"

"Hey!" Piper cut in. "Everyone just calm down, okay?"

Wyatt stood his ground as she came right up to him, looking into his eyes, as if searching for something. Without breaking that eye contact, she put a hand to his face, even smiling slightly as her palm cupped his unshaven cheek.

Every last bit of him resisted, he didn't want this, didn't need this, it could only weaken him, and he should back away -- no, turn his back on her and stride away so she knew he wasn't afraid of anything she could do. Why couldn't he move?

Just then, Phoebe let out an audible breath. "It's okay," she said.

Piper dropped her hand and turned to her sister. "Phoebe?"

She was solemn. "That's the first time I felt an emotion from him that wasn't anger."

Piper looked back at Wyatt, eyebrows raised. "Really."

Wyatt did not want to hear Phoebe explain his feelings in depth, claiming to understand what he couldn't, but all she said was: "I'm not sure what it was, but it was ... gentler."

"I believe him," Leo said simply.

His mother didn't need to say what she believed -- Leo only spoke aloud what was already plain on her face. Eyes turned to Paige, who shrugged, but her tone took on her light-hearted wryness.

"I'm just saying, if he's a member of this family, then he ought to know why we can't just take in surprise visitors without a little suspicion."

"You're right," Wyatt said. "And I'm not asking you to take me in."

"We can figure out a way to get you home," Leo said.

"No. That's not what I want. Not right now. This was an accident, but I'm going to take advantage of it. I've got to figure out what Chris was up to and repair any damage he might have done."

Piper asked, "If we're not taking you in, where are you going to stay?"

"I know this city and I know the places I need to be to investigate, and it's not here." A thought struck him. "Where was Chris staying?"

"Chris?" Piper said. "In the back room of P3."

"Your old nightclub? Huh. Comfy."

"That's where he asked to stay."

 _My brother, martyr to the last_ , Wyatt thought. "That's not where I'm staying." Before they could ask, he said, "I'm not telling you where I'm going and you need to keep quiet about me being here. It will be better if I'm on my own."

"Without any powers?" Piper protested. "You can't-"

"I can take care of myself. Besides, that's without active powers. There's still a lot I can do, believe me. You can keep watch on little me. He's around here somewhere?"

"He's downstairs, asleep."

Wyatt nodded. "I just need one favor before I go."

* * * *

Leo carried Wyatt along as they orbed into P3's back room. It was late into the night now, but Wyatt could hear the thump of music beyond the door, the chatter of patrons closing down the house.

"Once I'm done here, I'll take off," Wyatt told Leo. "You don't need to stay."

"I want to stay. Can I talk to my son a little bit?"

Wyatt was already going through Chris's belongings, stashing what might be useful or informative into a duffel bag that Piper had given him. There was still room in it, even though she had supplied it with spare clothes (Leo's, he guessed), toiletries, snacks and money.

He didn't like feeling dependent on her, but he took the gifts. He lived in a future where everything just came to him -- by offering or by force -- but he could remember times he had fended for himself, on his own. Of course, back then he had still been hampered by lingering notions of "good" and "evil," and stealing fell on the wrong side of that line. It had barely restricted him then and it definitely wouldn't restrict him now, but he was glad to be spared the trouble when he had more important things to do.

He tossed aside Chris's clothes -- too small -- but claimed a deck of tarot cards, some plastic bags holding potion ingredients, and a few stoppered vials containing completed potions of some kind. Raising a cushion of the couch where Chris had slept, Wyatt turned up a notebook, just about the size of his hand and bound with a cheap cardboard cover. It was clearly from this time, but already battered with use, with pages roughly torn out here and there; Wyatt saw, in Chris's handwriting, notes on demons and half-written spells. Chris's own little portable Book of Shadows. Wyatt put it in the duffel bag and finally answered Leo.

"I can't tell you about the future."

"Be vague. I want to know how you are, if your life is good."

"Couldn't be better -- once I get this Chris problem fixed."

"Chris. I should have trusted my instincts. I had proof in my hands that he--" Leo shook his head. "But I gave it away. I gave it to _him_. I could have helped you, but I blew it. I should have been thinking about my family, but he somehow convinced me to give him another chance."

"Yeah. He does that. What did you have proof of anyway?"

"Among other things, I think he may have killed a Valkyrie."

Wyatt was taken aback enough to express his surprise aloud: "I never would have thought him capable of it. What did he have to gain?"

Leo paced. "I don't know. Or I do know -- he needed to get me out of the way. But I was already out of the way, I had become an Elder, and the Elders had already voted to make Chris--"

"Hang on, what? You're an Elder?"

He stopped pacing and faced Wyatt. "Yes. You didn't know that?"

"No, you were always..." But for a moment, Wyatt's memories felt unstable, shifting like tectonic plates in his mind. "What about you and Mom?"

"We're separated. Um, divorced. We aren't -- weren't in your future?" He sounded almost hopeful.

For a flash of a moment, the memory seemed real: His parents had been divorced ... _no_. Not possible. For one thing, he was not an only child.

 _Little brother, what a wreck you have made of this._ Wyatt went back to searching Chris's things.

Leo asked, "Are you saying that without Chris's interference, Piper and I would still be together?"

Wyatt ignored that question. He had been scanning the metal shelves and pulled down a chipped coffee mug that was sandwiched between boxes of straws. From the mug, he pulled a dull silver chain from which hung a slightly less tarnished silver pendant. A vertical rectangle, the pendant was decorated with a triquetra. Not the exact same triquetra that adorned the Book of Shadows and had been chalked onto the wall that had led Wyatt back to this time. But something resembling it, the kind of trinket you'd buy in a New Age store or from a booth at an outdoor festival.

"This is mine," Wyatt said.

Leo moved closer to look at the pendant. "How did Chris get it?"

"Someone must have stolen it from me, but Chris never would have gotten close enough to do it." He grimly watched the thing twirl slightly at the end of its chain. "That means someone else took it for him -- someone I've trusted is working with him."

"But why this? Does it have any kind of magic attached to it?"

"No. It's worthless. And that's probably why they stole it. I didn't wear it, it was nothing I'd miss, but it was mine, and they could use it to scry for me. To keep tabs on me."

With a flip of his hand, he caught the pendant and shoved it in a pocket of his jeans. "Never mind. I've got it back now." He turned away from Leo.

"Wyatt, you're hurt."

"What? I'm fine."

"No, you've got blood on your shirt, and in your hair, on the back of your head. Dried blood, but let me look."

"It's nothing. Chris got the better of me. Very temporarily."

"Sit down. Let me take care of it."

Wyatt found himself obeying, not even flinching away when Leo briefly laid a hand on his shoulder before beginning his work. In Wyatt's own time, Whitelighters weren't exactly lining up to heal him, in the rare occasions it was needed. But Wyatt had been ignoring the pain from scrapes on his back and an occasional throb at the base of his skull, all thanks to Chris's telekinesis slamming him against the attic ceiling. And while, unlike others, he could take Bianca's magic without the deadly aftereffects, he could still feel a lingering soreness mid-spine. So now, he gave in to the relief of the various aches, scrapes and bruises disappearing under his father's hands.

The moment the healing light faded, Wyatt stood. "Thanks," he said as he shouldered the duffel bag containing his haul. "I have to go."

"I can take you there, wherever 'there' is."

"No, I'm not doing that. I told you, I need to keep my presence here a secret for a while, and it's better you know as little as possible. Besides, hitching a ride to P3 was humiliating enough. I'll make it on my own power one way or another. Going the long way will give me time to think."

Wyatt opened the door that led into the nightclub, where the music and chatter were enough to drown out whatever parting words his father had. Without sparing a glance for the clusters of mortals drinking and dancing their lives away, he strode to the exit and headed out into the night.


	3. Chapter 3

Chris uncrumpled the page from the Book of Shadows and spread it smooth on the floor in front of him. As he did so, its words, the spell to travel to the past, faded under his fingers. He could not feel any surprise. Wherever, whenever, Wyatt was, if he didn't want Chris to follow, he'd make sure that didn't happen. Chris could recite the spell from memory, of course, but he honestly didn't think it would be worth the effort to redraw the triquetra.

All the same, he tried saying the words aloud, staring at the blank wall. Nothing happened.

Finally, he picked himself off the floor and turned to the wreck of the attic. He needed to find some way to contain Wyatt should he come back through that wall, but before anything else, Chris pulled a blanket -- it should have been dusty, but it was museum-clean -- from the daybed and covered Bianca's body. Only then did he start to scrounge for anything that he could use.

After about a half-hour, he found a box of crystals buried in a trunk. He laid them in a semicircle around the wall where the portal had been, and muttered a spell to activate them.

Now, the Manor.

He knew Wyatt had set up a powerful spell to enclose this place -- that was why he and Bianca had had to sneak in with a tour group. For the time being, Chris needed that spell to keep working, including against Wyatt's minions. Keeping everybody out could be good, for now. To make sure of that, Chris had to figure out the spell.

It took him the rest of the night, paging through the Book of Shadows for clues, examining the perimeter of the backyard in the dark. He didn't dare go out front -- too exposed -- but what he found in back had to go all the way around. It was almost elegant: All around the property, a winding, unbroken circle of ivy twined along the ground, in the grass, around flower beds, studded by crystals that were buried but for the occasional glint above the soil line.

Gingerly, Chris moved his hand over the line, and got a shock. Great, he was locked in. One more problem to solve.

But the thought struck him: For as long as Wyatt was gone from this time, the Manor was Chris's. His to protect, his to use as sanctuary. He had not expected to feel that connection ever again. Even while he had been in the past, it was the sisters' home. While he had enjoyed the strange freedom of coming and going there as he pleased, it was the family's and, as Leo had told him, he wasn't family.

But in this time, he was -- the only Halliwell around.

So, the spell protected the house, and the house was his. Would that be enough? Could he tweak the spell to make it obey him?

Chris settled himself in the kitchen and stared at a blank page in the faint light that came through the window.

Aunt Paige used to tell him -- his Aunt Paige, not the younger woman who had been his charge these past months -- that the effort of writing a spell helped create the magic, focused it on whatever you wanted it to accomplish. When Chris got frustrated trying to get rhymes just so in his first attempts to write spells, she assured him it was worth the time.

The thing was, Chris was sure Wyatt had not bothered writing anything when he had created this protection spell around the Manor. Paige's theory didn't seem to apply to him, never had.

Chris put that out of his mind and eventually cobbled together something he hoped would work.

He considered where best to recite his spell, and reluctantly climbed back to the attic, where he stood next to the Book of Shadows and said:

_Protection circle set round_  
 _To shield one within its ground,_  
 _Let its power treat fair_  
 _This blood that is shared,_  
 _Serve any Halliwell found._

He couldn't help a small smile of satisfaction as he saw the faintest shimmer in the air outside the window. He had felt the power of it, too. But he had to make sure. Give it a test -- a minimal risk test. And he knew what to do.

Pre-dawn was turning the backyard a blue-gray as Chris stepped outside again. He walked to the perimeter, just inside it, and recited a different spell, a simple one created many years ago by his great-grandmother:

_Creature low, vile and base,  
Come right now to this place._

A slight whirling breeze disturbed the flowers as the figure of a scrawny male demon materialized with an indignant "Ow!" as he bounced off the invisible barrier and landed in the grass. Then he spotted the Manor and scrambled to his feet in terror.

Chris stepped forward. "Penka. It's okay. It's just me."

Penka froze, his mouth dropping open.

"I had to make sure no demons could get past my protection spell," Chris said as Penka gaped. Then he added, "Uh. Sorry."

Since Penka still seemed unable to produce a sound -- though he might have been trying -- Chris kept talking.

"I know you're probably surprised to see me after..."

"Surprised? I thought you were dead!"

"Um..."

"Bianca said you weren't, but then she went back to working for Wyatt, and so we thought she had to be lying, that maybe she was lying all along, but you were just gone, vanished, so -- where the hell have you been?"

"It's a long story..."

Penka noticed the Manor again. "And how are you here? Putting protection spells around this place, of all places?"

"Look, I need you to do something for me. I need you to contact--"

"No! Answers!"

Chris was taken aback. Sure, Penka seemed a bit panicky, but that was his default mode. Standing up for himself was a little more unusual. Chris expected complaining, but not demands.

"Okay," Chris said. "Fair enough. But it's got to be quick. I'm putting protection spells around this place because the Manor is mine, for now. Wyatt's gone."

"He's dead?" Penka's voice was immediately hushed hopefulness.

"No. Just gone. Temporarily, at least."

"Gone where?"

"Same place I've been."

"And you're not going to tell me where that place is."

"Not yet. Look, I didn't die, I didn't run away -- I was on a mission, for all of us. I had good reasons for keeping it a secret. But it's gone kind of haywire, and I need time to think it over, to figure out what I can tell, okay? Can you trust me on this?"

"I know what you're going to ask me to do. And I'm guessing it's because you already trusted him with this secret?"

"As a matter of fact, no. I trusted Bianca. Only she knew."

"Great choice. Is she why whatever you were doing went haywire?"

 _Well, yes._ But for a flash Chris wanted to drop the protection spell just to get through and throttle Penka. He had to remind himself that he didn't know how long any of their compatriots had been living with her betrayal.

All the same, defensiveness on her behalf colored his voice when he demanded, "Do we still have a man on the inside?" Chris asked like someone who was sure of the answer. Whatever had happened with Bianca, she had to have kept this secret, at least.

That shred of faith was rewarded by Penka's grudging answer: "Yes, we do. He was never exposed."

"Then can you please go get him for me?"

"Since you say please. Where should I bring him?"

"This spot. I'll wait inside, but keep an eye out. Oh! Tell him to bring food. What? No one's been living here. And I haven't eaten since..." _2003?_ Not since before Bianca showed up in P3, which, according to his internal clock, was something like two days ago.

Penka gave Chris a look both aggrieved and resigned -- that was more like the Penka of old -- and shimmered away.

* * * *

It was full daylight when a zap caught Chris's attention while he lurked downstairs. He sidled up to a front window to peer out.

He was pleased to find out his spell worked on mortals too. Backing away from the shield, rubbing her nose, was a museum guide. A different one from the woman who had led the tour he and Bianca had been on ages ago, but the uniform was the same.

Chris also found it heartening that this one looked so put out -- because, as far as she could know, Wyatt was responsible for shutting the place down without telling anyone, not until she ran straight into the invisible wall. Good for her that she had enough spark, enough courage, to look pissed off.

But that look vanished quickly, replaced by a cowed expression. Following her gaze, Chris saw Penka strolling down the street, carrying a grocery bag. Penka technically looked like a human, and not at all an intimidating one. But there was something indefinably off about him. In this age when mortals were all too aware of the magical world -- and this guide would know more than most -- even they could pin him as a demon.

Penka stopped and talked to her, to Chris's mind looking silly with his groceries, but she soon turned and walked away. Penka watched her go, then tromped off toward the backyard, carefully skirting the property line.

"How did you get rid of the guide?" Chris asked Penka when they met by the flowerbed.

Penka shrugged. "I acted like I was a minion. Told her that Wyatt wanted use of the Manor, so the museum was closed until further notice. I think he does that occasionally, so she didn't argue."

"I'm impressed. Quick thinking."

Apparently still in a bad mood, Penka wasn't going to dignify compliments by accepting them. He held out the grocery bag. "Do you want this or not?"

"Uh, yeah, hang on. I don't want to drop the whole barrier, but there's a way to open a door."

"What, you've locked yourself in?"

"It's Wyatt's spell originally. I'm guessing he could walk right out, but he probably also found it useful to trap other people in."

"True."

"Anyway, I made a key." He pulled two bits of cloth he had found in the attic, small decorative things that he was sure had belonged to the house for generations. Crouching down, Chris scoured the ivy's leaves until he detected one of the crystals. With a light flick of his hand, he covered it with a one cloth, then repeated the process with the next crystal in line. Tentatively, he put a hand forward between them, over the line. No shock. The "door" was open.

Penka wasn't budging. He just held out the bag, and Chris stood up, stepped through and took the groceries.

"Why are you alone?"

"He said, and I quote, 'Who the hell does that kid think he is? He disappears for months, his girlfriend betrays us, and now he wants me to blow my cover?'"

"Did you tell him that Wyatt is gone?"

"I told him Wyatt was temporarily gone."

"And he didn't like the 'temporarily.'"

"No, not so much."

"Look, tell him that no one knows I'm here. And Wyatt was last seen at the Manor, so he can act like Wyatt is summoning him. Now."

"Uh, Wyatt doesn't send _me_ \-- or anyone else, for that matter. I think Wyatt just gets into his head, sends a summons. It's like the Whitelighter thing, in reverse."

"Creepy. And I can't do it. Go back and tell him--"

"He said if I came back he'd sic the guards on me. What do you want from me? I can't make him do anything. Nobody can -- a Halliwell ought to know that better than most."

"Fine." Chris stooped to uncover the crystals and he felt the energy resurge between them as he pocketed the cloths.

Penka must have too, since he took a step back. Then he seemed to relent a little. "He did give me money for the food. I can bring you more. Just, if you use Penny's summoning spell again, open a door, will you?"

"Got it."

After Penka shimmered away, Chris returned to the house. In the kitchen, he rummaged through his groceries -- Penka had smartly picked non-perishables. Chris briefly contemplated a granola bar, but then realized he wasn't hungry.

The attic seemed to hang over his head. He had hoped for help with Bianca's body, but since help was not arriving...

He regretted letting Penka go right away. Maybe this new, semi-confident Penka had discovered how to throw fireballs. But he decided against summoning him back. Best not completely alienate his apparently only friend in this time.

Nothing to do for it, but one more trudge to the attic, one more look through the Book of Shadows for something, anything to help him with this terrible task.

When Chris reached the top of the stairs, his stomach lurched as he heard a voice.

"You've gotten sloppy. Open the door even a crack, and somebody's going to slip in."

Through the attic door, Chris spotted the speaker sitting relaxed on an old sofa, not six feet away from where a blanket covered Bianca's corpse.

"Granted, getting in here -- I've had more practice than most. Now, where the hell have you been all this time?"

The adrenaline shock still rattling in his veins, Chris moved into the room. "Good to see you again, too, Cole."


	4. Chapter 4

"Mama..."

The sound of her son's crying jolted Piper out of her nap. It was not a cry that said, "I'm awake and bored, get me out of this crib." It was a cry that sent Piper dashing to his room, where her instincts were proved right: Wyatt was calling for her from underneath his shield as a black-robed demon directed a beam of light at his face.

At Piper's entrance, the demon dropped the metal rod producing the beam, and it flashed and vanished in midair seconds before Piper blew up its owner.

Wyatt let his shield down as his mother rushed over and picked him up. "Hey, it's okay," she murmured as he quieted down. "It's okay..."

She knew he would be okay -- she tried to convince herself he would be okay. She had now seen him as an adult, walking around, after all. But two weeks had passed since that young man had walked out of the Manor, and they had heard nothing from him. So she could only guess he was okay, but aside from that, his disappearance allowed doubts to creep in. Why had she believed he was who he said he was? Leo seemed convinced, but when Leo wasn't around, that certainty slipped away from her.

But if that Wyatt was telling the truth, it looked like he'd never be out of trouble. If it wasn't some demon coming after him, it would apparently be some gone-off-the-rails Whitelighter from the future, up to who knows what.

Nothing about Chris made sense anymore. As annoying as he had been, intrusive, nagging, secretive, neurotic, he really had seemed intensely focused on protecting Wyatt. If it had all been an act, it was a far more accomplished act than she would have given him credit for. Because in her experience, while he was indeed secretive and often deceitful, he was simply terrible at it. No, they hadn't uncovered much of the truth about him, so she supposed he was a good liar in that sense. But it was always so obvious that he was lying.

Unless all along he had been putting on a show of being a terrible liar in order to hide a deeper level of lying ... that was a talent for deception that made her head spin.

She wished she could talk to that other Wyatt again.

Once the Wyatt she had in her arms had calmed down, she returned him to his crib and -- pausing to linger on a photo of her once-intact family, herself with Leo and their son -- she headed downstairs.

She could hear Phoebe and Paige below, and the front door closing -- someone was leaving. All the activity had the distinct feel of a quick cover-up.

Phoebe was hanging innocently on the bannister when Piper reached the first floor. Without breaking her stride toward the kitchen, Piper said as she passed, "Hey, how's that surprise party going?"

Phoebe hustled after Piper, and as they entered the kitchen, Paige quickly stood up from a crouch by some low cupboards.

"What do you mean, surprise party?" Phoebe asked. "There's no surprise party."

Piper set about preparing a bottle for Wyatt. "Just do me a favor and don't invite Greg. I broke it off with him two days ago."

"Aw, honey, I'm sorry," Paige said. "It just wasn't working out, huh?"

"No, it wasn't, not when I've got a grown son from the future wandering around the city somewhere. Kind of a big thing, you know? It's all I'm thinking about, but could I tell Greg? No. That made me realize the whole thing was a waste of time."

"What are you going to do?" Phoebe asked.

Piper shrugged. "What can I do? I'm over it. And maybe, once my life is a little more settled, I can think about dating again, but..."

"I meant what are you going to do about Wyatt -- the other one. You haven't heard from him at all?" 

"No, but I was thinking this morning, right after I vanquished a demon in baby Wyatt's room--"

Phoebe broke in: "Wait, excuse me?"

"Why didn't you call us?" Paige asked.

"Well, I didn't want to bother you. It's no big deal, I blew him up, he's gone."

"Okay," Paige said, "do you know every time you say that, they come back with a vengeance?"

"Kiss of death," Phoebe added.

"Do you guys know that Wyatt called me Mama?"

"He did?" Phoebe cooed. "Oh, his first word."

"Unless you count the conversation we had with him two weeks ago," Paige pointed out.

"Well, maybe those will be better first words to remember, whatever they were, because 'Mama' came right after he was attacked. I don't think I'm going to be putting that in his baby book."

"His first words in the attic were probably something like, 'Stop, don't blow me up.' "

"That doesn't make me feel any better, Paige," Piper said. She headed to get the mail as her sisters trailed after her.

"Yeah, about that conversation in the attic that night," Phoebe said. "Can we talk about what he said about Chris?"

"What, that he was double-crossing us the whole time?" Paige asked brightly.

"That's just it," Phoebe said. "It doesn't add up. Okay, it adds up a little, because sometimes I could sense that he was hiding things, and then I stopped being able to sense his emotions at all. But I'm talking about his actions. All the time he was here, what did he do that was so bad?"

"You mean aside from setting us up with that demon feeding on our desires?" Paige asked.

Piper paused in shuffling through the mail. "Huh. I forgot about that."

"You said yourself, Piper, that you believed Chris when he said that was a mistake."

The doubts about grown Wyatt's story that had crossed Piper's mind not an hour before were evaporating. She knew that she wanted to believe her son. She did not know any reason Chris had given them to trust him. She reminded Phoebe, "Leo never stopped suspecting Chris sent him to Valhalla."

"Okay, okay, I'm just saying--"

"That my son is lying?"

"That maybe he's mistaken. That maybe he's misjudged Chris, that maybe we shouldn't jump to conclusions. I mean, he helped us with, um ... a lot of things."

"Well, you can have your chance to interrogate Wyatt about it if you want," Piper said. "That's what I was trying to tell you. I'm tired of waiting around and hoping he'll come to us. He thinks he's not going to visit his mother once in a while? His mother's a witch, living in a house full of objects that belong to him." She picked up a teddy bear from a sofa. "Who's going to help me scry for him?"

* * * *

Despite the disreputable nature of the neighborhood, Piper insisted on going alone, driving the SUV instead of letting Paige orb her to Wyatt's doorstep. "I'm not going to ambush him with two aunts," she said. ("No, you'll ambush him plenty all on your own," Paige joked.)

Having left baby Wyatt in care of her sisters, Piper now parked on a potholed street a half block from the hotel that the crystal (with the teddy bear's assistance) had pinpointed. Unfortunately, it wasn't pinpointed enough. She had no idea what room he might be in, or even if he had checked in -- he could have just been there temporarily, long gone by the time she arrived. Now that she stood under the dilapidated sign for "Hotel Averno" and looked through glass doors -- one with a long crack patched with duct tape -- into a dank lobby, she regretted not letting Paige bring her here. With the traffic, it had been forty minutes since the scrying. She could walk in and ask for him, but she had a sneaking suspicion that if he was here, it wouldn't be under his own name. Who was she supposed to ask for?

As long as she was here, she had to try.

Walking through the doors, she nearly ran into a surly man walking out -- he snarled at her as he shouldered her out of the way, and she felt pretty sure he was a demon. _Great._

No one was behind the counter, but there was a bell, and Piper rang it and waited, looking around at the threadbare furniture, smelling the mold emanating from the carpet.

"Yeah, what do you want?" This time the surly person who was probably a demon was female, looking at Piper with deep skepticism. "You want a room?"

Piper decided to approach this like she was in a nice, normal hotel with a non-demon clerk. "No, I'm looking for a friend of mine. A young man, tall, with kind of longish blond hair, he would have checked in maybe a couple of weeks ago. Do you have anyone like that staying here?"

"He doesn't have a name?"

"Um, well, it's ... sometimes he uses different names? You know, kids. With their wild nicknames and all." She took a stab in the dark. "It could be Matthew?"

"Right. Let me tell you something, lady. Even if you knew his name, people come here because they want to hide and they know we'll keep our mouths shut. But since you don't even know this guy's name, that sounds like he really wants to hide from you. So get the hell out."

Resisting the urge to blow up the rude demon clerk on principle, Piper left. Outside, the air on the street was only marginally fresher than in the lobby. With no plan for her next action, she walked back to the SUV -- only to be startled by a voice coming from the nearby doorway of a long-boarded-up restaurant.

"What are you doing here?" Wyatt said by way of greeting.

"Looking for you."

"No kidding." She opened her mouth to speak, but he interrupted her: "If you want to talk, unlock the car, and let's go somewhere else. I really don't want to be seen on these streets chatting with a Charmed One."

She supposed that was fair enough. As she drove away, he sunk low in the passenger seat, only straightening up after some six blocks, just as the SUV entered streets with less derelict buildings and fewer suspect pedestrians.

Piper finally spoke: "That's where you've been staying?"

"Old stomping grounds." He side-eyed her with a faint smile. "For the sake of my future teenage self, I'm hoping you'll forget about it."

"Oh, terrific."

"I told you not to follow me."

"And I'm your mother. I have certain prerogatives. You can't just come here, announce yourself, and then disappear. You want help getting back? We can help with that. And we can certainly help with figuring out whatever Chris was up to -- we were the ones dealing with him on a daily basis for months, remember?"

"And I've dealt with him for years, remember? Who do you think knows him better?"

"Have you found out anything?"

"Not much," he admitted. "First thing I had to do, though, was come up with a spell to keep him out of the past. Honestly, I didn't know if I could do it -- he's not even old enough to exist in this time yet, so I had to target the person in my own time, if you get what I mean. But my spell seems to have worked so far. He's not here, anyway."

"How do you know? He could be here, hiding out, like you."

"I'd just know. And if he had come back, you'd know, too. He'd try to get back in your good graces. If you haven't heard from him, he's not here." Wyatt looked out the window. "You're driving to the Manor, aren't you?"

"Force of habit. Do you want to go somewhere else?"

"No, it's a good idea. Just to be sure, I'd like to reinforce the spell up in the attic, since that's where Chris would come through again. So why did you decide now to contact me, anyway?"

Piper explained about the demon attack that morning. "Do you think it had anything to do with whatever Chris was up to?"

"It could. Anything could."

"Do you remember anything like that happening to you?"

"Not really, no. Demons coming after me aren't an unusual occurrence. But you said you blew this one up."

Piper sighed. _Demons still keep coming after him._ "I'd still like to know there was only one demon to blow up. I'm going to look through the Book of Shadows to see if I notice anything. Nothing remarkable about his appearance -- tall, robed, with this little metal rod thingie."

Wyatt said nothing to this, and they rode along awhile in silence that was only a little awkward. Piper stole the occasional glance at the young man sitting next to her. He watched out the window, frowning as if the city itself were a puzzle.

Then she caught him wince and put a hand to his temple.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I just have a headache ... of a sort. It comes and goes."

They were at a red light, not far from home now. "I can get you something for it back at the Manor."

"It's nothing. It's gone already." And it was true that his expression had cleared of any pain. 

As Piper pulled into the Manor's driveway, she said, "Oh, just warning you, since you're here? Phoebe's probably going to insist you come to my surprise party."

* * * *

"Well, look who you found," Paige said as Wyatt followed his mother into the sunroom. Paige picked up a teddy bear and waggled it back and forth. "This was the key."

"Hey," Phoebe said. "Welcome home."

Wyatt took an involuntary step back despite himself. In Phoebe's lap was a blond-haired baby who had started reaching his arms up in a "want" gesture as soon as Paige had held up the bear. Phoebe took it from Paige, who was absently still holding it, and handed it to the kid. He seized it, even though his attention had almost immediately been distracted by something else: bear grasped in one hand, he now reached toward Piper.

"Mama."

"He has learned that word well, such a big boy," Phoebe said as she released him to his mother.

_This is weird_ , Wyatt thought.

Piper must have read his expression, because she said to him, "Yeah, I remember meeting my younger self. And younger Prue -- remember that Phoebe?"

"And Mom pregnant with me. You know, that may count as weirder."

"Okay, well, I'm going to have to leave you guys to reminisce without me," Paige said. "Phoebe, if you don't need me for ... stuff, I'm going to try to spend some time with Richard today. Since I might be busy tomorrow."

"Richard's not invited tomorrow?" Piper asked after Paige orbed out.

"Invited to what?" Phoebe said. "Not that there's anything going on, but if there were, Richard's been having magical problems again, and Paige thinks he needs a break from, you know, us."

Piper looked between the two versions of her sons. "I can see how that might be a problem. What about Jason?"

"Yeah, Jason's the opposite. He still doesn't know anything about me being a witch and -- oh, you meant about tomorrow. I think he's in some place like Zimbabwe right now. Can I talk to you?" 

She walked up to Wyatt and took his arm, startling him out of the trance of disinterest he had been slipping into. She pulled him into the sitting room, and Wyatt saw Piper roll her eyes a little as she moved to sit in front of the Book of Shadows, which was opened on a coffee table.

Once they were out of Piper's hearing, or at least out of her line of sight, Phoebe asked, "Tomorrow is your mother's birthday. We're having a surprise party."

Wyatt looked in his mother's direction. "Surprise?"

She smacked his arm lightly. "Shh. Try to get in the spirit of things. You need to come. It'll be just me, and Paige, and Darryl and Sheila -- do you know Darryl and Sheila? A nice, small dinner."

"And Dad?"

"I thought that might be kind of awkward." She stopped and considered. "But if you're there, maybe not. Parents can still have a healthy relationship for the sake of their child, right?"

"I'll see. I'm going to help Mom look for this demon that attacked today -- I might be busy."

"Oh, come on, it's her birthday!"

"Phoebe," Piper called from the sunroom. "Stop badgering my son."

Wyatt wondered if Phoebe had more than family togetherness in mind. Despite her bright smiles, her uncertainty about him was transparent. She couldn't possibly doubt his identity after they found him using that teddy bear, he thought. But her empathy power could pose a problem if her imagination ran away with her, and she cornered him at this party. 

For now, though, she let him be, and excused herself to go to work. Wyatt headed up to the attic to reinforce the spell keeping Chris in the future. Piper, having eventually declared defeat on finding the tall, robed demon or his metal scepter in the Book of Shadows, came up to the attic, where she put the younger Wyatt into a playpen and the Book on its stand.

Grown Wyatt tried to ignore the other one. He began flipping through the Book of Shadows himself.

"You're looking for something to keep Chris out?"

"No. I've completed that to my satisfaction. You won't be seeing him again. I'm just making note of things I can use -- spells and potions, ways to defend myself since I don't have any active powers."

"Since you don't have any active powers, you shouldn't be getting into situations where you have to defend yourself."

"Not much chance of that. Don't worry about it. I've been busy since you saw me last, pulling together a stock of potions, thinking up spells. This is just a backup, to remind myself of anything I may have missed." As he spoke, one page caught his eye and he pulled out Chris's notebook. "Can't believe I forgot about this one. This will come in handy."

"What? What is it?"

"Just an old spell Grams came up with," Wyatt said while copying it. "It actually may come in handy with this demon hunt we're on right now."

" _You_ are not on any hunt. I am, and your aunts."

"Mom, face it, you brought me onboard whether you like it or not. I've got to follow up on this lead." He stood up to leave, flipping the Book of Shadows shut.

"What lead? You don't even know what the demon looks like, and anyway, I've already checked -- he's not in the Book."

"It's not that kind of lead. Call it a fact-finding mission. I've got to go."

Carrying the baby along with her, Piper followed him downstairs and to the front door. As he opened it, she said, "I'd freeze you if I could, mister."

"You can't freeze good witches, Mom."

"At least tell me you'll come by tomorrow. Not just for Phoebe's party, but to check in. If you're helping on this, then you have to actually help, right here where the little you is threatened."

Begrudgingly, he saw the logic in this. "All right."

Piper smiled and kissed him on the cheek before he could walk away -- the baby briefly grabbed his jacket. "I'll see you tomorrow," his mother said. "And you don't even have to bring a birthday present."


	5. Chapter 5

That first night, Wyatt had faced some trouble winding his way to the Hotel Averno. Orbing took some degree of geographical awareness, or so Wyatt had always thought. But as he tried to navigate San Francisco's streets on foot and several wrong turns took him off course, he had to rethink that idea. A simple mental map of the city was a different kind of geographical awareness that he really had never had to learn.

But by dawn, he had found the Averno, and checked in -- under a fake name, of course. It was a flophouse, and it was like others in the vicinity in its dirty, threadbare appearance. But it was unlike others in what kinds of beings frequented it. It had had the same management for decades, and its clientele were not the usual drunks, druggies and deadbeats -- well, some of them might be those things, but drunks, druggies and deadbeats who were demons, warlocks, witches of dubious character, even your occasional surly leprechaun whose luck had run out.

Wyatt himself had first discovered the Averno in his early teens, during one of his secret, solo demon hunts. Then, some months later, after a big fight with his parents, he had stormed out of the house -- so angry that he left on foot just to be able to slam the door with a vicious blast of telekinesis -- and orbed to the Averno's doorstep. The people (or not-people) on that street were apparently used to magical traffic, since no one gave a teenager's appearance in a swirl of orb lights a second glance. He marched into the lobby and took a room.

Over the next few years, it became his occasional hideout when he needed to escape his family for whatever reason. Sometimes, it would be to meet someone -- for a tryst, or a negotiation, or to set a trap. Sometimes, he would have no set purpose: He'd just lie in the bed, testing his mental powers, reaching out to the tenants in the rooms surrounding his, detecting their powers, trying out ways of his own devising to control them through the thin walls. The place was awash with dark powers and demonic energies, and he soaked it all in.

Now, with no active powers, he could do none of these things, but it was a place to stay, to regroup and plot out what, if anything, he wanted to accomplish back in this time.

Telling his parents and aunts that he needed to figure out what Chris was up to had been a bit of quick thinking, a story that they'd believe, but it had some merit, as well. First of all, he had to make absolutely sure nothing his brother had done here had had any effect on the future that Wyatt meant to keep in his iron grip. Second ... Wyatt had to admit a gnawing curiosity about what exactly Chris thought he could fix, here in the past. Why had he become so convinced that some "evil" had got to Wyatt?

It was very possible that Chris was delusional, so trapped in his notions of good and evil that he had talked himself into this nebulous threat as the only explanation for Wyatt's "fall."

But just suppose something really had happened? Chris's interpretation of it would still be ludicrous -- as if anything or anyone could set Wyatt's destiny. But what if it was something that Wyatt could, while here in the past, come to understand and, understanding, turn even more fully to his advantage? What if the knowledge could make him that much more powerful in his future?

There was no rush to figure out a spell to get back to his own time. The beauty of time travel was how it gave you all the time in the world -- well, some twenty years, in this case. Wyatt didn't need that long, but he decided it was worth spending some time to work out whatever Chris had thought he was doing. And now, apparently, spending time to help his mother protect his younger self.

He could have flat-out refused to talk to her. He saw her walk into the Averno, and he could have walked away, come back later when that SUV -- incongruously pristine in that rundown neighborhood -- was gone. Instead, he waited for her, without really understanding why.

He knew he'd have to entangle himself with his family one way or another if he wanted to follow Chris's trail. But he expected to control the circumstances better than this. Somehow, he'd let himself be dragged along.

On the other hand, something had attacked little Wyatt -- attacked his own self, no matter what age -- and that was something he would never let pass.

He had not idled away these past two weeks. As he had told his mother, he had armed himself with spells and a stash of potions, and, more than anything, he had his wits and a power that had nothing to do with orbing or shields or fireballs. He had himself, and he would prove that was all that was needed.

That self-sufficiency included such mundane things as conquering public transportation. He had thought ahead, and already routed the way from hotel to Manor and back.

He returned to his current neighborhood, but didn't go back to his room. Instead, he found a nearby alleyway to recite Penny Halliwell's old spell. He felt annoyed that it had come to this. In the future, he had better choices -- in particular, one demon lieutenant with far stronger abilities. Of course, he had already tried to summon her in this time. He knew she was out there somewhere. But her defenses were too good, and his powers ... he had to face up to the limitations he was saddled with here.

But this would do, having no other options. So he spoke the spell:

_Creature low, vile and base  
Come right now to this place._

The "creature" showed up in a whirl of wind, and in mid-sentence: "... promise, Boris, I'll get the money to you, just give--"

He stopped talking and even though the alley was otherwise empty, he whipped around wildly for a moment before his attention focused on Wyatt. Then he gave a nervous laugh.

"You have excellent timing. Thanks, whoever you are. Although, what, has that spell been posted on the Internet now? You know, the witch who came up with it promised she'd keep it to herself. But she's dead. Then a Whitelighter started using it, and now you. Who are you supposed to be? I know you're not a demon."

"Just another witch, with good connections."

"That's just great. With that spell spread far and wide, how am I supposed to live my life with you people yanking me out of it every time you feel like it?"

"A minute ago you were grateful."

But the demon was on a roll. "I told that Whitelighter, I said, you've got to give me a break, or I'll find some way to counteract that spell, I swear I will, and he said--"

"Penka!"

"What? Wait, how do you know my name?"

"If I know the spell, I know your name, idiot. I said I had good connections -- that means connections to get my hands on the spell. It's not spread 'far and wide,' so shut up about that."

Wyatt stopped and forced himself not to grimace. The same "headache" -- though that was not really what it was -- flared up again. It was not pain, exactly. That would be easy enough to bear. It was more an odd buzzing, and a feeling of something trying to tug at his consciousness like a fishing line. It was gone in seconds.

Penka didn't seem to have noticed. "Where are we anyway?" He scooted a little down the alley and peered around a corner to get a look at the main drag. Then he rapidly retreated, slipping into Wyatt's shadow before a trio of demons sauntered by.

Wyatt didn't even bother to ask what that was about. Maybe Penka had already pissed one of the trio off, or he had just telepathically "heard" a random thought that made him nervous. Wyatt didn't care.

"Do you know about the Charmed Ones?" he asked. "And about Piper Halliwell's son?"

"Oh, you're on about that, too?"

"Why, who else has been asking?"

"That's what their Whitelighter was so obsessed with."

"What did he tell you?"

Penka edged behind Wyatt again and a moment later, a solitary pedestrian walked past the alley's opening.

"Look," Penka said, "can we go somewhere where there's not quite so much demon foot traffic? It's really distracting."

"Where did you meet with the Whitelighter, then?"

"There's this park, near the Charmed Ones' nightclub, you know the place? P3?"

"Yes, and I know the park. Spent time there as a kid. Give me a lift, and we can talk there."

* * * *

"That was weird," said Penka as they shimmered into the park. "Never took along a passenger before."

"And I've never shimmered before, so it's a whole new experience for everyone."

They were just behind a maintenance building, shielding them from the busy park. Penka strolled on out, toward the sounds of life. Children screeched and whooped around a swingset and a jungle gym, dogs chased after Frisbees, a jogger nearly collided with Wyatt. Penka, seeming suddenly cheerful, was making a beeline for an ice cream vendor.

"Much better," Penka said after he ordered a double scoop cone. "Now I can talk."

"Good. What was the Whitelighter's obsession with the son?"

Penka's shrug was not quite as nonchalant as he might have hoped. "Beats me. He was their Whitelighter. I guess that included the kid for him. Why don't you ask him yourself?"

"Because he's not around anymore."

"Huh. What happened to him?"

"He's not dead, if you're worried."

"I'm not worried." He seemed offended at the notion. "Just curious. What if whatever got to him comes after me?"

"He's been contained, let's say. Not hurt, just not coming here anymore."

"How come?"

"What did he tell you, that he had the purest of intentions, that he was on the side of good?"

"Um, he's a Whitelighter? I just took 'side of good' for granted. They're all good, right?"

"You'd be surprised."

"And it's not like he was asking me to do bad things. He just wanted me to keep my ear to the ground, so to speak, for any threats to the kid."

Something struck Wyatt: "Did he even tell you his name?"

"Well, uh, no, not as such. I've only met him maybe three times, four. It's been a while. I was actually thinking of trying to get hold of him, because I found this demon who--" Penka cut himself off and then continued, a bit too quickly, "Well, never mind, it's not important. I just thought I'd suggest it, but you say he's not in a position to do anything about it, so never mind. Can I go?"

"I didn't call you to talk about the Whitelighter. I'm sure I know a lot more than you about that situation. Let's just say that he wasn't necessarily working in the best interests of that kid. And I'll also say, that just because someone uses you, lets you work for them, doesn't mean they really trust you, or have your best interests at heart."

Penka looked morosely at his melting, half-eaten ice cream cone, and Wyatt waited for Penka's natural paranoia to fill in the blanks. Then Penka asked, "So you're saying he wasn't trying to save that kid, he was trying to mess him up?"

"I know it."

Now Penka looked Wyatt in the eye. "So what? I'm a demon. Evil is after the Charmed One's son? Great. Go Team Evil."

"Give me a break. You've got a reputation -- at the very least for doing next to nothing for 'Team Evil,' and sometimes actively working against it, ever since the days of Penny Halliwell. I know what Mero demons can do if they put their mind to it: I've met your sister. But you? You're not fooling anyone."

"All right, you know, all that says is that I need to change my ways, right now. Stop helping Whitelighters who have unspecified bad intentions, and don't start helping witches, any witches. Unless they've gone evil. I'll help evil witches. From now on, I'm a changed demon."

He re-tackled his ice cream, practically turning his back on Wyatt, who wondered if mentioning the sister had been a strategic blunder. Family -- you never knew what that would bring up.

"Look, I'm not insulting you here. I'm trying to work with you without resorting to threats -- I'm guessing threats were how Penny Halliwell got you on board." He aimed for a reasonable tone, but the message was unstated but clear: _I can turn to threats, so let's not go there and skip to you cooperating._

"I don't even know what you want from me. Information? I have more than anyone, including myself, could ever need."

"I want to know if there are any demons specifically after the Halliwell kid right now. Beyond empty bragging and daydreams. Actual plans put in motion. Skulk around the Underworld. Report what you hear."

Penka gave an aggrieved sigh and polished off his ice cream cone, wiping his fingers on his dingy coat. "If I did hear something, how do I report back?"

"You can find me at the Averno. Ask for Michael in Room--"

"I'm not going there! That place is a racket of demon thoughts, and full of all sorts of lowlifes I'd rather not run into. I'm surprised any witch would stay there."

"It's easier to keep on eye on an enemy that's close at hand."

"Too close."

"You don't need to linger. Just drop a note off at reception giving my room number" -- he scribbled it on a corner torn from a page in Chris's notebook and handed it over -- "with a meeting time and then run. I'll show up here at the time you give."

Penka scowled and pocketed the paper, grumbling unconvincingly, "Have I mentioned how much I hate witches? I hate witches."

* * * *

Piper walked into the Manor, her small son and shopping bags in tow.

"Piper?" Paige called. "We're in here."

Piper dropped the bags on a table in the sitting room before following Paige's voice. She and Phoebe were in the living room -- Paige holding a wooden box of crystals, Phoebe talking on the phone.

"We're setting up a demonic alarm system," Paige announced, displaying the box.

On the phone, Phoebe gave a nervous laugh and said, "No, she said we're watching a mechanic set up an alarm system. You know us girls, can never be too careful."

Paige smiled slyly and moved into the sunroom, distributing her crystals on tables as she went.

Piper followed. "Do you need any help?"

"Absolutely not." Paige set down a crystal, which briefly hummed and glowed. "It's your birthday -- you just take it easy. We're on it."

Paige was on it, anyway. Phoebe was finishing up her phone call.

"Okay, I love you, too. Bye." She disconnected and turned her attention to Paige. "Cute, very cute."

"Just trying to help."

"What, are you trying to blow my secret?"

"Well, you said yourself you're going to have to tell him sooner or later."

"Yeah, but I want to be the one to tell him, not AT&T." Phoebe turned to Piper. "Did you and Wyatt have a good time with lunch and shopping?"

"Yeah, he got a little bored while I was shopping for a phone, but then we stopped at a fair, and he got a balloon animal and cotton candy, and then he started getting cranky, so we came home. I think someone needs a nap."

"Ohh," Phoebe cooed. "Is my favorite nephew cranky? Do you want me to put him to bed?"

Piper gratefully accepted, handing Wyatt over and settling in a chair as Paige placed one more crystal and moved toward the stairs herself. But Piper hadn't enjoyed even a minute of her Paige-mandated relaxation when the doorbell rang, followed almost immediately by the sound of the door opening. Piper jumped up, on the alert, but then heard the sound of her grown son's voice.

"Anybody here?"

Piper and Paige rushed to greet him.

"Our first party guest," said Paige. "But, shh, don't tell Piper. It's a surprise."

"Do you always leave this door unlocked?"

"Well, we're home," Piper said. "And look" -- she pointed out one of the crystals -- "demonic alarm system. Or so Paige says."

Wyatt looked dubious but just said, "I'm here to talk about that demon attack -- I'm not here for the party."

"Um, can't you be here for both?" Paige asked. "And can't you wish your mom a happy birthday before jumping right in with demon attacks?"

Piper thought she saw a flash of genuine anger from Wyatt, but then he briefly closed his eyes and took a breath before turning to her and saying, more-or-less graciously, "Happy birthday, Mom."

"Thank you," she replied.

Phoebe came down the stairs at that moment. "Wyatt, I'm so glad you came!" she exclaimed, handing the baby monitor to Piper. "Paige, do you need any more help with the crystals?"

"No problem, I got it. I just need to place some upstairs, and then I can come back down here activate the whole thing. You can help with that."

Piper thought Paige seemed inordinately chipper about this, and Phoebe must have thought the same thing, because she asked, "Why are you in such a good mood?"

"It's nice to practice magic without feeling guilty, that's all. I'll be back in a minute."

Wyatt frowned after Paige as she walked upstairs, prompting Phoebe to fill him in: "Her boyfriend, Richard, has a problem with magic. Overdoing it. So she cuts back in front of him. Meanwhile, I'm dating a mortal, and he doesn't even know I'm a witch. And..." Phoebe took on a teasing tone: "You know, I don't need the empathy power to feel the wave of indifference coming off you."

"I already know how these things turn out so I really can't bring myself to care."

"All right, people," Piper said. "This conversation has taken a fabulously awkward turn, so can we get back to demons, please?"

"Yes," Wyatt said.

"Maybe we should call Leo," Phoebe suggested.

"Is Dad coming to this party, or not?"

"He is," Phoebe said. "Because he thinks you're going to be here."

"Might as well call him now," Wyatt said, then lifted his head and raised his voice: "Leo!"

Leo orbed in front of Wyatt within seconds, showing up with an affectionate smile. "Good to see you again," he told Wyatt. "What's going on?"

"A demon attacked little Wyatt yesterday," Piper said. "Don't worry, he's fine, I blew the demon up, but grown-up Wyatt here has news about it, apparently."

"Yes, I do. Ever since yesterday, I've felt this ... buzzing, almost something like a tugging: tugging at me, my mind, my soul. Not continuously, just every six or seven hours, like someone repeatedly trying to get to me, failing and trying again later. And it's faint, almost like its strength is divided."

"Like they're trying to get to little Wyatt but they don't know you're here to receive the signal, too?" Leo said.

"My thoughts exactly."

"Was that what your headache was all about yesterday?" Piper asked. "Why didn't you say something then?"

"Because then I thought it was just a--"

"Is this a bad time?"

They turned to see Darryl standing in the doorway, holding a small, cylindrical present.

"I just wanted to drop this off," he said.

"Darryl ... aren't you coming to dinner?" Phoebe asked.

"Dinner. Actually, this is for Wyatt so he has a little something to open up, too. You mind if I give it to him?"

"Oh, that's really sweet, but we just put him down for a nap," Piper said.

"I'll sneak it in so he can see it when he wakes up. He'll never know I was here."

"Sure," Piper said. "Paige is up there. Just ... shh."

"Okay, no problem." Darryl nodded and passed with a bland smile for all of them -- including grown Wyatt, who was, to Darryl, a complete stranger.

Once he was gone, Piper asked, "Okay, so someone is trying to get at you -- both of you -- for what?"

"I can't tell. I tried focusing my mind on it, trace it back, but ..." He clenched his jaw, frustration evident.

"We'll find a way," Piper assured him. "Whatever they're doing we can use it against them. We need to figure out how can we use this 'tugging' feeling or whatever it is to track these guys down."

"Maybe there's something in the Book..." Phoebe started to say, but was interrupted by Wyatt -- he did not speak, but he had jerked suddenly to attention.

Then he bolted for the stairs. At that exact second, Piper heard static on the baby monitor. She dropped it, and followed Wyatt, practically crashing into Paige, who was walking down the stairs.

"Darryl will be right down, he--"

Piper didn't hear the rest. She kept on Wyatt's heels, and caught up with him -- simply because she knew where the baby room was. Wyatt evidently did not, having already slammed open the door to Paige's former room. Then he followed Piper.

Baby Wyatt was under his shield, and the figure over him no longer looked like Darryl. It was another one of those robed demons, holding the metal rod over the crib as purple light poured from it. Piper raised her hands to blow this one up but was thrown off balance by grown Wyatt, who shoved past her and dived for the demon.

Wyatt got the demon's arm in his grip -- just in time to hitch a ride as it shimmered out.


	6. Chapter 6

Never shimmered before, and now, twice in two days. It was different this time -- Wyatt felt a lurch and guessed that the demon, knowing it had been hijacked, had changed destination.

They landed in some deserted, hot chamber of the Underworld. Wyatt wrenched the demon's wrist, shaking loose the metal rod. But the rod flared and vanished before it even hit the rock-strewn floor. So he wasn't getting hold of that, but he could easily keep his grip on the demon.

"Go ahead," Wyatt said. "Try to shimmer out again. I can do this all day."

"I will be faithful to the one I serve," the demon declared, the solemnity of this statement undercut by its scrambling to keep its footing as Wyatt pulled it into a chokehold.

Wyatt reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a vial. An all-purpose potion -- he judged it would do the trick. "Tell me what you want with the Halliwell boy."

"You're too late. The child is ours, and there's nothing the Charmed Ones can do about it."

Wyatt flicked off the vial's cork with his thumb and let a drop or two fall on the demon's face. It made a satisfying sizzle and his captive screeched. Wyatt paused to take the lay of the land. Some twenty yards away, the ground appeared to drop off, and a faint redness flickered on the ceiling of craggy rock. So they were near one of those cliffs or pits scattered throughout the Underworld. Always useful.

He returned his attention to the demon: "Let's start with a simple question: Who do you serve?"

"Our leader ... he has returned to us ... and he will crush--"

Wyatt took that as a cue to crush the demon's windpipe. Just a little. " 'Our leader' is not a name."

"He has ... many names," the demon choked out. "I will not ... betray any of them to y--"

Another drop of potion. "Did he send you after the Halliwell boy?"

"... child ... is ours."

"You said that already. The child is not 'yours.' He belongs to no one but himself." Wyatt dropped a bit of potion in the demon's ear just to emphasize the point.

After it was done screaming again, it gasped, "I accept ... die to prove my loyalty."

Wyatt flipped the demon to the ground, face down, and held him in place with one knee to its chest. "We'll see. I have a lot of patience, enough potion, and all the time in the world."

* * * *

After grown Wyatt disappeared -- just as Leo, Phoebe and Paige made it to the room -- Piper had stood there in shock, hands still poised to blow up that demon. Someone might almost think she had frozen herself were it not for the inarticulate noises of panic she was making.

But now she was recovered and incensed.

"What does he think he's doing? A demon's after him, and he hitches a ride to the lair? With no active powers?"

Paige was working on scrying, once again holding the teddy bear. And Phoebe was on the phone again -- this time to Darryl, checking to see that he was okay, and, at Piper's insistence, telling him that the birthday dinner was off.

"Yeah, definitely. We're definitely going to reschedule," Phoebe was saying. "Okay. We'll let you know. Bye." When she hung up, she came to hover over Paige and the map. "Any luck?"

"It's tricky. They're probably in the Underworld, maybe still on the move."

Piper threw up her hands -- a reaction to Paige's lack of progress, but it was just as fitting a reaction when the doorbell rang in the same instant. "I'll get it," she snapped, and stalked to the front door.

She opened it to see a scrawny, sandy-haired man in a long, dingy coat. He jumped up -- he had been leaning over, peering at the doorbell.

"Can I help you?" Piper said, not in the mood for people -- or whatever this was -- perplexed by doorbells.

"I ... uh ... I'm here to talk to the Charmed Ones?"

"Excuse me?"

He craned his neck to see inside. Leo, holding baby Wyatt, and Phoebe had followed Piper and were standing in the foyer. Piper tried to block the stranger's view.

He said, "Do you know Michael?" At Piper's baffled reaction, he clarified: "Young man, blond hair about so long, tall ... very tall."

"Michael."

"Yeah. He asked me to get some information for him. But I, I don't know him. I don't know him at all, and he wants information about the Charmed Ones' kid, you know, the 'Twice-blessed One' or whatever? And I got the information, but I thought I ought to deliver it to you. Cut out the middleman, so to speak."

"And you are?"

"Penka." He smiled and held out a hand, which Piper did not take. He coughed awkwardly. "I'm able to, uh, get information about demons easier than most. I mean, I try not to get involved, but sometimes you witches make me and, well, here I am."

Piper didn't let him in, but eased the door open a little wider so that Leo and Phoebe could join the conversation. Penka waggled his fingers in a friendly wave to Wyatt in Leo's arms, but stopped at Piper's glare.

"What do you know?" Leo asked.

"There's a cult. There's always a cult, right? It's called 'the Order.' " Penka made sarcastic air quotes. "Anyway, the leader was vanquished ages ago but they've stuck together, thinking he'd be reincarnated. And now they think they've found him." Penka gestured toward Leo and Wyatt, then clarified: "The baby, that is, not whoever you are."

"I'm the baby's father," Leo said.

"Oh. So you're the Elder. Congratulations. All right, that's what I know, and can you tell Michael that I told you and to please leave me alone now? Thanks." 

They watched open-mouthed as he shimmered out from the front porch in broad daylight.

From the living room, they heard Paige call out: "Got him, let's go!"

* * * *

All three sisters orbed into the Underworld in time to see Wyatt toss a screaming demon into a pit and hurl a potion vial after him. The demon was vanquished long before he hit the ground.

Piper didn't really expect he'd be pleased to see them, and she was right.

"What are you doing here?" he said.

"Rescuing you," Piper said.

"Does it look like I needed it?"

"No," Paige said. "But it looks like you're done here, so can we get back home? Because you will need my help for that."

Paige orbed them all back to the Manor, and it was only in its brightness that they could see Wyatt was now sweaty and dusty from his trip to the Underworld. An old biege jacket that had once belonged to Leo and now fit his son was darkened with smudges of soot and red dirt. Wyatt immediately began to pace.

"That was a waste of time. I couldn't get anything out of him."

"And if you had stayed here," Piper said, "you might have gotten some information."

"How?"

"Do you know a demon named Penka?" asked Leo, who had stayed behind with baby Wyatt.

"He showed up on our doorstep, looking for 'Michael.' Ring a bell?" Piper said.

Wyatt's interest in this information seemed to win out over his irritation. "What did he tell you?"

Piper explained about the Order -- it was news to Paige, too, as they had rushed off to find Wyatt without stopping to fill her in.

"They're going to keep coming," Wyatt said. "The one I caught was a true believer. If the rest of them are like that, they're not going to stop until we wipe them out." He gave a short laugh. "If I had known that I was their 'leader,' it would have been easy to get that demon to talk. I could probably walk right into..."

"No," Piper said. "Don't even think about it, mister. You're not walking right into the lair of a cult trying to turn you evil."

"We should use the advantage that we've got. They're going to come back for him." He pointed at his younger self in Leo's arms. "We just need to be ready."

"We're not using you as bait."

"I'm already bait. And we already know they're really easy to vanquish. You blew one up; I got one with a standard potion. We just have to find them."

"This Penka guy didn't say where they are?" Paige asked.

"No," Piper said. "He just dropped this bomb and ran away as soon as he could. Oh, and Wyatt, he said not to contact him anymore. You are Michael, I assume?"

"Yes. I got it from one of the men on the family tree. Don't talk to people about me, but if you have to, that's my name."

"Okay, well, why don't you and your aunts work on reproducing that potion. Once we have that, we" -- Piper pointed to herself and her sisters -- "not you, will find these guys and vanquish them."

"I'm going--"

Leo interrupted Wyatt. "Your mother and aunts have been doing this a long time, and they've protected you since you were born. Let them do their jobs." To Piper, he said, "I should go Up There, see what I can find out."

Piper took the baby from Leo's arms. "In the meantime, I'm going to feed this Wyatt lunch. Because even if I don't get a normal birthday party, I'm at least going to feed my son like a normal mom. And," she told older Wyatt, "even if it's a little less normal, I can fix something for you, too."

But she found herself fixing that lunch in the kitchen with the potion-makers. "It looks like most of the ingredients for this one are down here," Phoebe said apologetically. Piper ceded the stove top to her sisters and her grown son, while she grabbed some counter space to assemble lunch for the smaller version of that son. She had put him in his high chair, as far from the potion-makers as possible, where he sat playing with cereal.

"How have you been making potions?" Paige asked Wyatt as they worked. "Do you have a kitchen where you're staying?"

"No. I went to a thrift store and bought a hot plate and a beat-up old saucepan."

"Where are you staying, anyway?" Phoebe asked.

Piper answered for him. "He's staying at what looks like some demonic flophouse."

"That's exactly what it is," Wyatt said. "It's cheap, and it's a good place to keep your ear to the ground."

"So's the Manor," Piper pointed out.

"Or," Paige said, "if you insist on roughing it, you could stay in the back room of P3 like Chris did."

Wyatt didn't even deign to reply to that with words -- just a contemptuous noise.

Phoebe handed Wyatt some mandrake root and said, "Speaking of Chris--"

"Phoebe..." Piper warned, but Phoebe pressed on.

"I've been thinking, you know, maybe the evil that Chris said was after Wyatt, maybe this is it."

Wyatt put the root on the cutting board with more force than necessary. "You're saying you don't believe me about him. I told you he is not who he said he was. The whole reason I'm staying here for now is to keep him contained and fix his mess."

"I'm not saying you're lying about this."

"You'd better not be," Piper said. She was giving them her full attention, facing them with a baby spoon and a small bowl of pureed squash.

Paige, meanwhile, had the look of someone choosing the wiser course of staying out of it, focusing on the potion.

"I'm just saying that there could be things going on that we don't understand. That none of us understand. That maybe we're not getting the full picture." Phoebe looked a little warily at Wyatt, who was glowering as he chopped mandrake root with a rather large knife. She continued, "I mean, it could be a good thing. Once we vanquish this Order, maybe all that stuff Chris was talking about could be over."

Wyatt gathered the root pieces in a fist and brought them to the pot. "It'll be over when I--" 

Paige interrupted: "Didn't you say the mandrake root should--"

The splattering explosion cut her off. Everyone ducked as potion flew out of the pot, over the stove, on Piper's lunch preparations, in everyone's hair.

"--be added last?" Paige finished as she straightened up. 

Then she gasped, and the rest turned to see a purple beam of light hitting baby Wyatt in his high chair, the light emanating from just beyond the doorway that led to the dining room. Piper moved forward, but was blasted back when little Wyatt suddenly raised his shield.

Three robed demons entered the kitchen and the blue sphere of the shield. One took Wyatt out of the high chair. "He's one of us now," the demon intoned, before the intruders shimmered out, taking baby Wyatt along with them.

* * * *

"You have to let me come with you now." Wyatt cut off Piper's protest: "Stop trying to protect me! I can fend for myself, no matter what you think."

"They want to turn you evil."

"Supposedly, they already have. But look at me, I'm the same. I'll stay the same as long as we get him back, and you need me to do that. He's blocked you -- he won't let you in his shield. I'm your only chance now. He'll let me in -- I _am_ him."

"He's got a point," said Leo, who had returned at their call and with information about the Order's location. He had sensed it somehow, and at this stage, they were going to have to go with it.

Paige, who was handing out potion vials, handed one to Wyatt. He slipped it into his jacket pocket and Paige shrugged. "Looks like you're going to have to back down on this one, Piper," she said, and held out her hands to gather her passengers.

Paige orbed all four of them to the Underworld, onto a plain strewn with pillars of rock and filled with ceremonial chanting. As grown Wyatt slipped away, circling around the other side of the knot of demons, Piper saw the one who had carried off baby Wyatt, and was now holding him over an altar.

"Behold. He has returned to us. To his rightful place, who one day lead us back to--"

As long as he was holding the baby, he was untouchable, but the sisters lit into the rest, Paige and Phoebe throwing kicks and potions that sent Order members up in flames, while Piper methodically blew up others as they tried to run.

The head demon set the baby on the altar and extended his arms, that metal scepter in hand. Piper moved toward them -- until Wyatt's shield knocked her back as it had in the kitchen.

"He protects me now, not you," said the demon. But seconds later, a figure from behind, within the shield, seized the back of the demon's neck and shoved his entire torso forward, cracking his head on the corner of the already bloody stone altar. The demon crumpled to the floor, the scepter rolling away. 

Grown Wyatt stepped back, and calmly dropped the potion on the prone form, which went up in flames. The three demons that remained shimmered out.

Wyatt picked up the scepter and pointed it at the eyes of his younger self. A purple beam emanated from it again, and then the shield was down and the baby was reaching for his mother as Piper ran to pick him up.

Wyatt examined the rod. "Funny, I don't feel any different," he mused, and then he snapped it in two. It emitted a meek purple spark and then blackened as if it had been in a fire. It broke into a few smaller pieces when Wyatt dropped it on the ground.

* * * *

In the chaos of the day, Paige never had got around to fully activating that alarm system, but as long as the crystals were scattered about the Manor, Wyatt asked if he could borrow a few. Paige told him to help himself.

"Are you always going to be this much trouble?" Piper asked as Wyatt made to leave.

"You can count on it." He returned her wry smile with a slight one, and it struck Piper how rarely she saw this Wyatt smile -- and never bright and unreserved, always clouded.

"Hang on," she said. "I bought something for you."

"And it's not even my birthday."

She picked up one of the shopping bags she had abandoned in the sitting room earlier in the day and from it pulled a cell phone.

"You may insist on staying in that dive, but I want you reachable. You can call any of us -- I've programmed the numbers."

Wyatt took it, flipped it open, and inspected it, prompting Piper to ask, "Do you even have cell phones in the future?"

"Close enough. Though you don't need to use them as much if you've got Whitelighter powers. Dad never got one, as far as I know."

"Well, you don't have Whitelighter powers here, so carry it with you. Use it. Got it?"

"Got it," he said, and then walked away from her again.

* * * *

Wyatt considered tracking down the escaped Order members and revealing himself to them. Not that he believed their nonsense about him being the reincarnation of their leader, but he could collect a few minions.

On the other hand, they had been pathetically easy to vanquish. He was used to a higher standard of minion, and these Order demons ... Even Penka was more useful, a damning comparison if there ever was one. In other words, they were not worth the risk that would come with revealing his identity to anyone -- even to cultists primed to worship him.

Wyatt returned to the Order's deserted lair and retrieved the bits of that scepter. A few other ceremonial odds and ends abandoned there, and it was a simple matter to scry for the cult's survivors.

After that, all it took were Paige's crystals, a simple but painful potion, and his own will. The task took longer than it would have when he was at his full powers, of course, but within ten days the "Order" was no more.

He tracked and trapped each of them, and he did, in fact, reveal his identity. One was skeptical, the other two fell to their knees -- the third and final survivor with a particularly terrified fervor. Each was made to grovel and to understand that Wyatt, at any age, was no one's pawn, bound to no one's order but his own. Only then did Wyatt finally relent and vanquish it.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, in this chapter will be mention of a demon named Andras. Unfortunately, it wasn't until after I had started posting this story that I noticed Charmed canon already had a demon named Andras. He was the "Spirit of Rage" in the Season 3 episode _Power Outage_. Oops. Oh well, I guess if humans can share the same name, so can demons. But readers should know the Andras in this story is my own invention -- he's not the rage guy. Apologies for any confusion! And now, time to get back to Chris and Cole in the future.

Cole didn't return Chris's greeting or rise from the sofa. "I'm waiting for an answer," he said.

"I'll tell you everything, I swear. But, first, I need you to help me. Please."

"With what?"

Cole couldn't have missed that he was sitting six feet away from a corpse. But he was going to make Chris say it.

"Wyatt killed Bianca. I need you to--" He found his voice catching. "We can't just leave her here."

Cole looked over at the quilt-covered body. "No. And we're a bit past traditional funerals these days. All right. I can take care of it." Something in Cole's expression had softened, however slightly, with pity. As he stood up, he asked, "Do you want to say your goodbyes?"

Chris took a small step toward her, then pulled back. "I can't." Not with Cole hovering nearby. Reaching in his pocket, Chris felt the ring and added, "I already said goodbye."

Cole nodded and moved over to the body and reached for the quilt. "Do you mind? Being able to see her makes it easier to not take out the attic floor, too."

"Whatever you need to do." Chris turned his back and walked to the window, the need to keep hidden temporarily forgotten as he stared out at treetops and neighboring rooftops. He thought he could hear the sound of Cole's fireball, and a moment later, he saw a flare of red light, briefly reflected on the window. Then he knew it was safe to turn around.

Bianca was gone, along with the quilt and the blood. The floorboards that had been beneath her were unstained and unscorched. 

Cole turned to Chris. "Do you want to go downstairs?"

Still staring at the empty floor, Chris could only nod.

They settled in the living room -- it seemed least exposed to passersby. And Chris told him everything -- okay, not everything, but a thorough explanation of the basics: how Chris had learned of some unspecified evil that got to Wyatt when he was a toddler, how he and Bianca had hatched this plan for Chris to travel to the past to prevent that from occurring, how Bianca, back under Wyatt's thumb (Cole affirmed this with a grim nod), had been sent to drag Chris back to the future. She had died trying to defend Chris in the attic, and … "That's when it all fell apart."

Cole raised his eyebrows. "Only now has it fallen apart? Seems like that might have happened when Bianca turned on you. On us."

"Penka said she didn't give you away."

"I'll give her that, but not much more. How exactly did this fall apart last night, and why are you here in this house?"

"Well, I was trying to get back to the past again, and…" Chris took a deep breath and then said in a rush, "Wyatt went through instead, he's back in the past, about 23 years ago, and he's done something to the spell so I can't follow him."

Cole stared, apparently trying to process this revelation.

"If he comes back, I set up crystals in front of the portal, to hold him."

"And we left the attic unguarded why?"

"Because you asked if I wanted to get out of there, and I did. We'll know when the crystals are activated, okay?" Chris didn't honestly know this to be true, but he guessed it might be, and he wasn't ready to go back up there yet. "Anyway, if Wyatt wanted to come back to the exact time he left, he would have done it already."

"I don't see why. I also don't see why you thought this whole thing had a chance in hell. Did you give any consideration to the idea that there's nothing in the past to change? Maybe he is just a bad apple. It's not unheard of in your family."

"You haven't known him all his life. I have. That's not who he is. Something happened to him. I know that for a fact. The sisters rescued him without ever finding the culprit, but he was found in the Underworld. Whatever had him did something to him. That's what I went back to stop. It has to make a difference."

"Doesn't seem to have made a difference so far."

"I wasn't done," Chris said. "I've been looking for months, trying to follow leads on what evil could be after him." He sighed. "To be honest, demons are after baby Wyatt all the time -- sometimes it seemed like there were too many possibilities. But the sisters were keeping him safe, more or less, and I--"

"You were in contact with the sisters?" Cole said sharply.

Chris knew what this really meant: You were in contact with Phoebe?

"Yeah, I kind of became their Whitelighter."

"Really? What happened to your father?"

"Leo's an Elder now."

"Huh. When did that happen?"

Chris shrugged uneasily. "When I showed up. Leo wasn't an Elder originally. That's a change that's my fault."

"Not something that's had much impact on the future so far."

"Not so far."

Cole looked suddenly amused. "There's no way Leo could stay with Piper while he's an Elder. You didn't happen to break up your parents before you were conceived, did you?"

Chris didn't want to get into this with Cole. "I'm still here, right? Yeah, they're technically broken up, but it's not like it's made a difference. He's never gone from the Manor. All the times in the here-and-now that I've wished for him to be around, and back in the past, I can't shake the guy. It's ridiculous. They must think he's an absentee Elder -- he'll probably get demoted. Problem solved."

"As long as you're not worried about it." Cole's dismissal somehow annoyed Chris as much as his raising the issue had. Cole continued, "What I want to know is, how exactly are we going to deal with the problem of Wyatt's absence?"

"Why is that a problem?"

"You think he doesn't keep his demon hordes in check? You think things are bad with him, imagine all the demons he's empowered -- and they're now off leash."

"Okay. You've told me he goes off on his own sometimes, and even puts you in charge. So this is one of those times."

"That won't work for long. Yes, he's left things in my hands before, but lately, I'm not the one he's trusted with that."

"It doesn't have to work for long, because if we don't fix the main problem, we're screwed either way. What's he doing in the past? How much more powerful will he try to make himself?"

"On the other hand, he's got himself a pretty good future here. He might disregard all the rules if it suits him, but he has reasons to preserve this, to not mess up the past any more than he has to. Guess what: Your brother has thought along the same lines as you have once or twice. I stopped him with stories of my own cold, hard experience with trying to alter the past. Maybe I should share them with you."

"I know the stories, Cole, and I'm not doing this for personal gain. That's the difference. Whatever," Chris said, answering Cole's skeptical expression. "The point is, what if he figures out how to make things worse? Do you really trust him? Do you trust him with Phoebe?"

Pushing that button never failed. "From my point of view, he's already responsible for her death."

"And do you want her death to come twenty years earlier?"

"You don't even agree with me that Wyatt got her killed."

No, Chris didn't, but he tended to avoid the argument, since Cole's vendetta was what kept him on their side. But sometimes Cole himself had to make a point of it, as if Chris's doubts made him a distant accessory to Phoebe's death.

Chris said carefully, "I agree that Wyatt created the conditions that led to Phoebe and Paige getting killed. And he could do the same in the past. I have to get back. I've put too much into this, and it's the only way to fix things. It's like you said, even if Wyatt disappeared, everything's just too far gone."

"Does it make a difference to you, as you try to change this timeline, that Wyatt was the one that brought me back from the cosmic void?" It was not an accusation: While Cole's voice was cold, it had a clinical curiosity.

"Yes, but -- I'm sorry. Believe me, I've thought it over. I've thought over a lot of things that may be sacrificed."

"Including yourself."

"Maybe. But before I vanish from existence, I have to at least try to warn the sisters. I didn't give them the whole story about Wyatt. I thought they wouldn't believe me or trust me if I did. I need to tell them, I see that now."

"Did you ask anybody else if this plan was worth it? Because I'm surprised Bianca went along with it, for however long she did. Most people would say your brother can't be saved."

"Most people would've said that about you."

"And maybe they were right."

"Look, it's not like anyone else has any plan to stop all this. But I've got one, and even if there's only the slightest chance it'll work, it's better than nothing. You say that Wyatt caused Phoebe's death. Maybe saving Wyatt means saving her. Isn't that worth it?"

* * * *

Cole Turner shimmered in at the base of what was once known as the Transamerica Pyramid. Wyatt had commandeered it a couple of years ago when he decided the Manor was too small for him. A swarm of demons drove out or killed the bankers, brokers, vice presidents and all their corporate underlings and claimed the Pyramid for their master. The Manor became a museum.

Once Wyatt had control of the Pyramid, several bands of demons, warlocks and rogue witches had made their own attempts to seize a skyscraper of their own. Some did this with Wyatt's tacit permission; for others, it was an act of defiance against him. After a few weeks of this, downtown was littered with the rubble of ruined buildings. It's not that the mortals could put up a fight -- they quickly fled -- but the various demonic and magical factions started battling each other for the best real estate. That's when Wyatt cracked down and put a stop to it, apportioning territory to those who were loyal to him and wiping out the others. But the San Francisco skyline still showed the scars.

In the Pyramid, Wyatt had taken over the top floors for himself, where he lived and ruled. A significant portion of the building was unoccupied. Wyatt's minions could have filled the place, but only those within a certain circle of trust -- as much as he trusted anyone -- were allowed even to enter headquarters, let alone live or work there. Cole was one of them.

In fact, Cole had been brought back into this world within the Pyramid by Wyatt himself, not long after he had acquired the building. One moment, Cole had been in a cosmic void, the next, in a flash of fire, he was bathed in genuine, living sunlight pouring into windows that overlooked the city. From the void, he had seen enough of the world's descent to recognize the grim young man, dressed all in black, standing before him. And a little over a year before, Cole had watched helplessly, furiously, as this very man had caused Phoebe's death.

Cole had kept this to himself as Wyatt paced the room.

"I take it you know who I am," Wyatt stated.

"Word might have reached me."

"I know all about you: Belthazor, former Source of All Evil, once invincible, my aunt's ex-husband ... and former Avatar."

"Thanks for the trip down memory lane. Why am I here?"

"I want to know more about the Avatars, and you're the only source I could find. Tell me how to defeat them."

"Ignore them and they'll go away." At Wyatt's glare, Cole continued, "You want to know about my experience with the Avatars. I've had a lot of time to think about that experience, and what it tells me is that I should have ignored them. They were just one more bad decision. Tell me, are they trying to get you to join their ranks?"

"No." Wyatt looked almost peeved by this. "But I don't like the idea of that kind of power out there. I need a plan to contain them should they decide to strike."

"They won't 'decide to strike.' That's not how they work. If they haven't even put in an appearance lately, you're chasing phantoms. But you've got the evil overlord generalized paranoia down -- good for you."

Wyatt glared at Cole. "I don't tolerate being talked to that way."

"Then vanquish me. I'm used to it from your family. Send me back to the void."

But Wyatt hadn't vanquished Cole. He had kept him around, at first as something of a prisoner -- the prison being a well-appointed, albeit magically caged, wing of the Pyramid. Gradually, Cole's freedom expanded as Wyatt came to depend on him as a lieutenant who could offer good advice and keep lesser minions in line as Wyatt's empire expanded.

Cole played along, biding his time for more freedom, letting Wyatt think that Cole's evil nature ruled his desires and choices. But he mitigated damage where he could, and reasoned that keeping demonic minions in check could only help in keeping chaos at bay, while he tried to determine a way, any way to bring Wyatt down.

The prospects of that were dim, but gradually, Cole became aware -- chiefly through Wyatt's outbursts about his brother -- that there was resistance out there. When Cole felt confident that it was safe to do so, he reached out to them. Of course, it took some convincing to get them to believe he wanted to help. Simply through family stories, Chris had inherited his mother's loathing for Cole Turner. In the end, it was their argument over Phoebe's death that won Chris over: Even if Chris didn't blame Wyatt, he did believe that Cole blamed Wyatt, and that convinced him that Cole was a credible ally. 

In time, Cole could consider himself nearly second in command in Wyatt's domain -- if it weren't for his competition. Which one was in favor and which one was shut out swung with Wyatt's moods and bursts of paranoia, as well as more practical needs, and just at the moment, Cole found himself on the outs.

He hadn't decided yet how soon to seek out his counterpart to tell her that Wyatt was incognito, but it was difficult to avoid her for long, and when he entered one of the floors that served as the common space, there she was.

Cazakin leaned against a desk, her arms crossed, typically displeased to see him. "Turner," she said flatly.

"Expecting to see someone else?"

"I am here to see Wyatt, of course. Nothing to do with you."

"You may be waiting a while. But you go ahead with ... whatever it is you're doing."

He turned and began to stroll away. She grabbed his arm as she caught up with him.

"What are you saying?" she hissed.

Cole gestured to an empty office, once the private domain of some corporate executive. Caza looked around at the smattering of demons conferring in corners and took his meaning. She followed him into the office and closed its double doors behind them.

"What is it now?" she asked.

"Wyatt's gone. He let me know he was going off on one of his ... expeditions, retreats, whatever it is he does. You know how he is. He'll be back when he's back. He asked me to keep an eye on things here."

It was a believable story. Wyatt had done this occasionally, and most times told either Cole or Caza, but not both. The problem with this lie was that as soon as Wyatt reappeared, it would likely be the end of Cole, or at least the end of his cover. But, Cole considered, this whole gig was already an exercise in staving off the inevitable. He had been undercover before. It always came to an end, one way or another.

"Of course," Caza was saying. "He can run off, have his alone time, and leave us to deal with the mess."

"What mess? I thought things have been running smoothly for once."

"Not anymore. Did you know his brother Chris is back in town? I caught one of the guards thinking about it."

"It's not like that kid's a threat."

"No, not really, but I'm guessing that's why Wyatt decided to take off somewhere. He probably killed his brother -- _finally_ \-- and wants to, I don't know, brood? Throw a party? Whatever, it's a distraction. We've got bigger problems, as I found out doing reconnaissance in the Underworld last night."

"No fun in delegating, huh?"

"I can do the job better," she said, and Cole didn't doubt it. 

"So what did you hear?"

"I got close enough to a trio of demons wandering down a side tunnel. I got a look inside their heads, and it's not good. They're followers of someone named Andras, new in town and looking to overthrow Wyatt."

"So? There are always rumblings from the dissatisfied, and Wyatt always squashes them."

"And who's going to squash them if Wyatt is incommunicado? But the real problem is that Andras may be new in town, but he's apparently already got a mole within our organization. I couldn't get a name. The demons I encountered seemed pretty low in the hierarchy -- I doubt they even know who it is."

"Shouldn't you be making a tour of the Pyramid right now, reading everybody's minds?"

"Don't worry, I will," Caza said. "But I can only read demons' minds. That leaves out warlocks, witches, Darklighters ... not to mention whatever it is you are nowadays."

"I'm not a mole."

"No. Much as I hate to admit it, this crowd isn't your style -- too much hyperactive posturing."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

Caza bestowed on Cole one look of withering contempt before continuing: "The other problem is something I just caught a fleeting thought about: Kansas City."

"Is that supposed to mean something to me?"

"I brought it to Wyatt's attention six months ago. I guess you missed it? A giant sinkhole opened up, taking out half a city block. Mortal engineers are still trying to work out what happened, but I thought it looked not at all natural. Wyatt agreed with me. So, I've been keeping an ear to the ground. If the demons that did that have shown up here and are gunning for Wyatt ..." She gestured to the floor beneath them. "All I'm saying is that I live here. I like it here. I especially like the view. I'd rather not see it swallowed up into the ground."

"How sure are you that this is what they're planning?"

"Pretty damn sure, or I wouldn't have been here waiting to tell Wyatt."

"Well, I don't want to be the one to put in an emergency call to him and have it turn out to be nothing but your guesses. Let's take care of this on our own. Could you find their lair in the Underworld?"

"I have a good idea."

"Then send a team down there. Wipe them out."

* * * *

An hour later, Cole was once again reminded that Caza's self-preservation instincts were second to none. She returned without a single singe from a fireball, but she returned alone. The team had gone up in smoke -- most at the hands of this Andras.

"I couldn't get a read on him -- I didn't get close enough," Caza said. "But he's powerful, he's up to something, and we're running out of time. We need Wyatt."


	8. Chapter 8

Wyatt Halliwell was ready to go home. The past was a waste of time. Chris had definitely wasted his time, and the more Wyatt followed the dead ends that his brother had followed, the angrier with him he got. There was nothing here. Nothing but Chris's phantoms. Less than phantoms: Ghosts were real; Chris's imaginary threats were not.

And ever since Wyatt had accepted that phone, he had felt his family over his shoulder. They didn't even have to use it. In the future, he hadn't wished for their deaths, but in many ways, life had become easier when Phoebe and Paige had been killed a few years ago. After Piper's death, his aunts had both in their different ways attempted to fill her shoes, but Wyatt had been sixteen -- nearly -- and didn't need a replacement mother, let alone two. He was more than capable of taking care of himself by that time, but they had been determined to smother him.

If they were less smothering here, it was because they were deferring to Piper, back in this time alive and able to smother him herself. She didn't, though. Yes, she had called, but he couldn't feel the same irritation with her as he might with his aunts. She was ... she was alive. It was difficult to take in. He was surprised that Chris had been able to function at all seeing her here, let alone hide his identity, as attached to her and as devastated by her death as he had been. Which reminded Wyatt of a big reason why Phoebe and Paige's attentions had been so maddening back when Wyatt was a teenager: After Piper's death, hadn't he been the one to drag Chris out of that paralyzing grief? Who else had really looked after him but Wyatt?

And the end result? Phoebe and Paige's interference had got them killed, and Chris had betrayed him. And now, even just the possibility that his aunts could take up their old (future) overbearing ways made him want to escape to his own time, where they were blessedly silenced.

So Wyatt found himself at the door of the Manor, armed with a return spell of his own devising, one to get him back with no time lost and with his powers restored -- all it needed was the attic and the Power of Three.

He didn't have the key to the Manor. Yes, he had spent several weeks now unable to orb and had even gotten somewhat used to it, but something about being kept out of this place in particular for want of a stupid physical key ... 

"I've got to get out of here," he muttered to himself and pulled out the cell phone Piper had given him.

"You're just the person I need to talk to," she said when she answered his call.

"If you come to the Manor, you can do that -- I'm standing out on the front porch. Yes, I could have called ahead, but you also could have given me a key." He heard the chatter of small children -- and possibly Phoebe's voice -- on the other end of the line. "Where are you, anyway?"

"Oh, I'm at your preschool, talking to your aunts about how I'm a rotten mother who's raising an anti-social child."

"What?"

He heard Paige in the background: "Oh, that is ridiculous, and not true."

"Is it?" Piper said, and then said, "Wyatt, you need friends. Phoebe and I had each other when we were growing up, but you don't have anybody, you're all alone. Tell me you eventually make friends."

"I ... Mom, I don't know what you--"

Phoebe interrupted, apparently leaning into Piper's phone: "Tell her she's overreacting."

"No, I don't think I am," Piper said in a new tone of alarm, and a second later, Wyatt saw why: Through the windows flanking the front door, he saw the glow of orb lights resolve into a toddler-sized shape in the foyer. A second set of orb lights followed soon after -- a group of adults, one of whom ran over to open the door to let Wyatt in.

It was Piper, only now disconnecting their phone call. "You cannot keep doing this," she told him.

"Me?"

"Yes, you. Look, I can dream one of you will listen to me, right?"

"Maybe little Wyatt knew his big self was stuck outside and wanted to help," suggested Phoebe, who had picked up the little one.

"Uh, guys?" Paige said.

She was looking up the stairs, where a door had appeared in the wall. Wyatt knew exactly what that door led to, but the sisters were obviously in the dark.

"Oh, what the..." Phoebe said as the three moved to the foot of the stairs. "Oh, this is not good."

From behind the door, a man's voice cried out, "Help!"

"Orb him out of here," Piper told Paige. "Go."

Phoebe handed little Wyatt over to Paige, who orbed away as the door was flung open by a bespectacled, bald man in academic robes.

"Oh, thank God you're home," he said -- right before a horse with a headless rider appeared. The man screamed as, with one sweep of a sword, the rider decapitated him. It vanished as the door slammed shut, but not before the hapless man's head dropped to the Manor stairs.

"What the hell was that?" Piper exclaimed.

The head sighed and, improbably, spoke: "That was the Headless Horseman."

The Headless Horseman, Wyatt didn't know, but he knew that door: _Magic School_. The man was evidently a teacher, though not one that Wyatt had known. But Wyatt was indifferent to the man's situation: As the sisters fussed over what to do with the head, Wyatt stared at that door. He had been barred from Magic School -- barred from any of the Elders' protected realms -- for so long that it hadn't even occurred to him that back in this time, if he had the door, he could just walk right in.

Phoebe had settled on placing the man's head on a foyer table, straightening his glasses as she did so.

"You're very kind," he said.

"Yeah, can I just ask you one question? How are you still talking?"

Piper tugged lightly at Wyatt's arm, and he reluctantly turned his gaze from the door to see her communicate through a look her own unspoken question: Why was he fixated on the door? He didn't respond, as the man was answering Phoebe.

"Yes! Well, fair question. Fortunately the rest of me is still at Magic School, otherwise I'd be--"

"I'm sorry, Magic School?" Piper asked.

"Yes, that's right. Anyway, as I was saying, uh, as long as my body remains on grounds, I can't, uh, well, you know, die. It's all part of the magic, thankfully."

"Like the doorway in the middle of my stairway."

"Sorry, I didn't know where else to put it," he said. "It's the only way in or out of the school. I had to reach you somehow."

"Do you have a name?" Phoebe asked.

"Sigmund. But I'm afraid we don't have much time for pleasantries. I really need to get you back before he strikes again."

"The Headless Horseman," Piper said.

"Right."

"Fabulous," she muttered as another flare of orb lights illuminated the foyer -- Paige returned, now accompanied by Leo.

"Where's Wyatt?" Piper asked.

"He's upstairs in his room. I thought I should bring Le--" She noticed Phoebe pointing out Sigmund's head and circled around to gawk. "Oh my God, and apparently I was right."

Leo, jaw dropping, followed her.

"Leo!" Sigmund exclaimed. "Oh! So good to see you again."

"Sigmund, what happened?"

"Wait," Phoebe said, "you guys know each other?"

Sigmund ignored the question. "Gideon sent me for your help, all your help."

Gideon was evidently an unfamiliar name to his mother and aunts at this point in time, but Wyatt knew it all too well. He had no love for any Elders, but this one in particular -- the very name revived forgotten rage. For the years Wyatt had attended Magic School, Gideon -- unctuous, interfering bastard -- had been his nemesis, inspiring anger that his family had thought was disproportionate to the conflicts Wyatt had with him. But they hadn't understood. They didn't see Gideon for what he was, a coward, drunk on his own righteousness. Even more galling, his dad liked the guy. 

And of course, Gideon would be in this time, too, guarding Magic School. _Son of a bitch_ , Wyatt thought -- as an expression of frustration or an epithet for Gideon, either would do.

Piper pulled Wyatt out of his thoughts and across the room, where "people with legs" were conferring.

"Leo, just so you know, this is what's keeping your son from developing social skills," Piper said.

Wyatt gave her a look that pointedly said, "I'm _right here_."

As if he had spoken aloud, Piper told him, "Shush. I'm trying to make a point. Which is that we can't just drop what we're doing every time someone's head comes rolling down the stairs."

"I don't believe you're saying this," Leo said. "You don't understand, this isn't supposed to happen. Magic School is supposed to be protected from evil. It's the only way Gideon can teach magic to the next generation, Wyatt's generation."

"I think little Wyatt is more concerned with nursery school right now then Magic School."

"Are you sure? Paige said he orbed back in front of the door. He was drawn to it."

"I want to go check it out," the grown Wyatt declared.

"Okay, you know what?" Phoebe said. "I think we should help the Magic School, because we can't just keep that head on our foyer table, you know? What is it, a centerpiece?"

"Okay," Piper said, "but we can't take little Wyatt, sorry."

"Who's going to watch him?" asked Leo.

"Who better?" Piper said as she gestured toward the older Wyatt, who vehemently shook his head.

"I just said: I'm going to Magic School. I'm not going to babysit ... him." To prove his point, Wyatt moved toward the door, taking a few steps up the stairs.

Piper turned to Leo, who said, "I have to talk to Gideon about this. I can't--"

His argument was cut short by the sound of orbing: Little Wyatt had left his crib, and landed below the door again, not too far from his older self who was so determined to enter.

Leo came over to pick him up. "The school has its own nursery. It's the most well-guarded place there. We'll take him, together."

And so they all went through the door, Leo protectively holding the smaller Wyatt, Piper holding Sigmund's head in a cloth bag. Wyatt barely listened as the sisters -- the newcomers here -- remarked on the long hallway as they stepped around Sigmund's body lying on the floor just inside the door.

Wyatt had no love for the place, but no loathing for it either -- he had been expelled, but that was on Gideon, no one else. It had been some five years since he had been able to enter, and he shoved aside the memories of teenage years and the old feelings of powerlessness that came with them, and focused on what he could do here and now.

"So how are we going to find this dude Gideon, anyway?" Paige asked.

"He's not a dude," Leo said. "He's an Elder -- my old mentor, actually."

"Really?" Piper said. "You've never mentioned him before."

"We met a long time ago when I first became a Whitelighter. He helped me out, took me under his wing. He actually fought for us to get married, to break the rules."

"Really?" Piper's tone expressed a sudden appreciation that Wyatt wanted to argue out of her. He knew that in the future she'd view Gideon as, at best, a small improvement over most Elders, but his dad would never change his tune. _My old mentor, Gideon, looking out for us..._

Phoebe, looking behind them as they walked down the hallway, spoke up: "Okay, I don't want to freak anybody out but there is a wolf following us."

There was nothing there but Sigmund's body.

"There was a wolf following us, I swear."

"Not everyone sees the same things here, Phoebe," Sigmund said from within the bag. "Only what they're meant to see."

"Who you got in there, Confucius?"

"Can we just get moving?" Wyatt said.

"Yes," Sigmund said, "We should. The great hall is just ahead."

It was still something of a walk, but they finally reached wooden double doors that opened on their own. A smattering of students passed by, on their way out, but more notable was what they didn't see: any person attached to the voice that welcomed them.

"Leo, good, thanks for coming. Although I do wish it was under better circumstances."

Wyatt was expecting this, but he still halted at the sound of that voice. Coming, at the moment, from nowhere.

"Gideon," Leo said.

"And the Charmed Ones. Lovely to see you again. Although you probably don't remember meeting me. You were just little girls. And I don't believe..." The voice turned uncertain. Wyatt could only assume he was the cause.

Phoebe stamped her foot in frustration while Piper handed the bag with Sigmund's head to Leo, who said, "Gideon, I believe your invisibility shield is still up."

And there he was, appearing out of thin air, looking flustered and exactly as Wyatt remembered him -- as an Elder, he wouldn't age, and apparently never change his hair or that horrid beard either.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm just a little distracted with everything that's been going on around here."

"Yes, we heard," Piper said.

Leo had uncovered Sigmund's head from the bag and was placing it gently on a table, making a little nest of the bag around his severed neck. 

"Sigmund!" Gideon gasped. "Oh, I'm so sorry."

"It's all right, sir. Didn't stop me from delivering the message now, did it?"

"Yes, Sigmund, well done," Gideon said with passable sincerity, before saying, mostly to Leo, "I don't believe I know who this is."

"Uh, this is Michael," Leo said.

Wyatt stepped in, cutting off his father's awkward lying. "I'm a witch. Nothing near so powerful as the sisters here, or even your students, but I can perform a spell well enough, make a potion or two."

Gideon still looked to Leo for further explanation.

Leo's voice gained more confidence in a lie that was at least somewhat related to the truth. "He's visiting San Francisco and wanted to meet the Charmed Ones." Nods from the sisters affirmed this story. 

Gideon did not look pleased at "Michael's" unexpected presence in the school, but apparently deciding to swallow it down for the sake of appeasing the Charmed Ones. He was also distracted by Sigmund speaking up.

"Forgive me, sir. Perhaps you'd like to orb me over to the other heads?"

"Right. Good thinking."

Sigmund addressed the Halliwells: "Nice to meet you."

"You too, dude," Phoebe said before Gideon orbed Sigmund's head away with a toss of his hand. Then Phoebe rounded on Gideon. "Okay, would somebody please tell me what's going on here?"

"Always were a restless one, just like your Grams. Well, it all started innocently enough, actually. Pranks really. Setting rats loose from the Pied Piper, turning the north dorm into a gingerbread house. Kids." He chuckled uneasily.

"And then?" Leo prompted.

Gideon turned portentous. "And then someone cast a spell that brought forth the darkness, and days became nights, nights became terror, and the Headless Horseman has roamed the campus ever since, targeting teachers."

"So what you're saying is somebody's trying to shut down the school by cutting off teacher's heads," Paige said.

"What else would it be? What better way for evil to gain an upper hand than to thwart the next generation?"

"Isn't it as simple as finding who conjured the Horseman and reversing the magic?" Piper asked.

"Yes, except that no student possesses that level of magic, at least they're not supposed to. That's why I believe that a demon from the outside has somehow corrupted one of them into doing his bidding."

Paige said, "So you find the student, you find the evil, right?"

"True, except you find much more than that here, Paige. The answers you each seek can be found within these grounds. You merely have to be open to them." He was addressing the sisters -- Wyatt was sure he wasn't included among the answer-seekers. Gideon continued, directing his remarks to Paige, Piper and Phoebe in turn: "Teaching will help you find the student in question, but it will also remind you of what you fear you have lost. Investigating our nursery school will help you with your worries over Wyatt. And if you follow the wolf, she will lead you where you want to go, but be careful. The deeper you look, the more you will discover, and the better chance you will have of saving all this." His eyes flicked to "Michael," and then he said, "Leo. I trust you will keep an eye on the situation."

With that, Gideon walked away and, within a few steps, vanished.

"Hm," Piper said. "I guess Wyatt is going to check out a new nursery school. What about you, Michael? Did you go to a magical nursery school?"

"Do you really think they'd let in a kid without active powers?" Wyatt looked where Gideon had disappeared. "I'm guessing I'm the 'situation' Leo has to keep an eye on."

"It doesn't have to do with your powers," Leo said. "You really can't be here unsupervised -- he doesn't know you and he has to protect the students."

"I'm not going back to the Manor."

"Why don't you come with me," Paige said, taking Wyatt's arm. "It sounds like it's back to school for both of us."


	9. Chapter 9

Wyatt had not, in fact, gone to magical nursery school. For most of his childhood, he had attended regular, mortal schools. But he was a problem student, constantly in trouble, not to mention constantly on the edge of exposing magic, and eventually his parents decided -- at Gideon's urging -- to send him to Magic School when he was twelve. Chris soon followed.

As far as Wyatt was concerned, Gideon had lobbied Piper and Leo for this because he had wanted Wyatt in a place where he could be better controlled, reined in. But Wyatt, finding himself in a school where he didn't have to hide his magic at all, had chafed under restrictions from the beginning. It wasn't Gideon's place to put limits on his powers. 

Barely a year later, headmaster and student had an encounter that entrenched Wyatt's resistance. The two staked out their positions at that point, setting the stage for an endless battle.

When he was thirteen, he had begun to visit "Up There" on his own. Without his dad or Paige, he'd go incognito to the places he had never been allowed, to see what he could find and use.

It wasn't all white columns and robed figures clicking at each other. Wyatt slipped behind columns and into infinite hallways and stairways that spider-webbed out from the general gathering area. Some of the halls Wyatt knew -- from infancy and into his childhood, Leo had taken him Up There time to time for his protection, when Piper wanted him out of the way of a demon battle. Usually, Leo would take Wyatt (and, eventually, Chris) to one of the nearer side rooms, and entertained them as best he could in a place not meant or prepared for children: The rooms were nearly as empty as that wide-open place where the Elders held conference and Whitelighters dropped in.

Once Wyatt got there on his own, though, he bypassed those familiar, dull rooms. What happened if you wandered farther? What could you find? Wyatt walked and walked down blank white hallways, hiding from the occasional passing Elders. And finally, just as Wyatt was sure he was looping back around to the main area, he found himself in a deserted area, in front of a new door. And it was locked.

Wyatt sat on the floor opposite and glared at it, as if he could force it open with his mind. That didn't work. He went home frustrated -- but determined. A few days later, he came back with a piece of white chalk. Its mark was barely noticeable on the white door as Wyatt drew a square near the floor, and then recited a spell he had found in the Book of Shadows:

_When you find your path is blocked,_  
 _All you have to do is knock._

His little chalk outline turned into its own little door, just large enough to crawl through. Behind it, Wyatt found a store he could explore for weeks. Magical artifacts of all kinds crowded the room beyond: weapons, talismans, vials of ancient potions, spell books. It was glorious. When he left hours later, he dared to take with him one particular book that just a glance told him was filled with great magical secrets -- even better, Elder secrets. Lots of stuff about Whitelighters -- how candidates are detected; how they are created, guided, trained, protected, healed; an accounting of the various threats to Whitelighters -- more than just Darklighters, but obscure demons throughout history who targeted them. Fewer pages were dedicated to witches, but the information about detecting them had proven useful in years to come.

At thirteen, though, Wyatt just figured that if he was part Whitelighter, he had a right to know this stuff, and just as much right to borrow this book. So he took it. While it was unlikely a demon could have shimmered away with it (assuming a demon could get Up There to begin with), leaving with it by orbing posed no problem. Wyatt hid it in his bedroom in the Manor and stayed up late nights studying it, memorizing it. He copied some pages and spells that particularly interested him -- perhaps intuiting that the book wasn't going to be in his possession long.

In fact, it was in his possession longer than maybe he should have expected. But he pushed his luck: He kept going back Up There, back to that room and then looking for others. 

He only carried out one other object. Standing over a case holding a collection of especially lethal-looking athames, he closed his eyes and held his hands over them, reaching out magically, until he felt a hilt jump up and hit his palm and he closed his fingers around it. Back in his room at home, he examined it, wondering why it would choose him. He would never even use it -- he hid it in the floorboards under his bed with the book, just occasionally taking it out to look at it again.

He wanted to take a few of the potions that were hundreds of years old. Would they still work? Did they grow stronger with age? Why had they been kept? Could they be reproduced? But it turned out there were limits on what he could carry off, or else whoever had stored these potions had more foresight and/or better protection spells than whoever had stored the athame and the book. When Wyatt tried to orb out with the potions, he arrived back in the regular world empty-handed. They hadn't made it through. The next time Wyatt returned to the room, the potions were there, sitting on the shelf as if they had never been touched.

He might have carried on his explorations indefinitely, but Gideon had been Wyatt's undoing. Of course. Wyatt had been leaving, sneaking out of his secret room to get to somewhere where he could orb home, when he heard voices, Elders off down the corridor, walking his way. Wyatt darted backwards, sealing his spell-created door, but not before he recognized the voice of one of the speakers: Gideon. The other voice, belonging to a woman, Wyatt did not recognize.

"I want someone to listen to me," Gideon was saying. "I hoped you would understand, Sandra."

"I can't say I do. There's been no evidence that your suspicions have any basis."

"The boy is too powerful. He is dangerous. We should never have allowed him to exist."

"But he does exist. That's not a decision you can change now."

"No. But there are other options."

"Binding his powers?"

The woman sounded skeptical, even ready to resist the idea, but Gideon seemed relieved that she had mentioned it first. "It's the only way," he said fervently. "We have to do it now, while we still can -- if it's not already too late."

As he spoke, Gideon opened the door to the secret room. Wyatt didn't even try to hide. He stood planted facing the doorway, unabashed, looking up at Gideon, who took a step back. The Elder lady, Sandra, looked merely surprised, but on Gideon's face, a hint of terror mingled with shock. 

At that, Wyatt smiled and said one word: "Scared?"

That was the end of Wyatt's trips to his secret room. It was also the end of his study of that book. When Gideon met with Wyatt, Piper and Leo, he told them that the Elders had taken stock of the room's contents and discovered the book was missing. Wyatt decided to cut his losses and avoid a search of his bedroom. He handed over the book.

He still had the athame. Either the Elders hadn't noticed it was missing, or Gideon hadn't asked for it. Wyatt didn't know why, but he wasn't about to complain. It stayed hidden in the floorboards until the Manor was turned into a museum, when Wyatt removed it, dusted and shined it, and placed it in his well-protected weapons cabinet in his personal quarters at the Pyramid. He had never used it, and though sometimes he thought he ought to at least figure out what it was for, so far he never had.

During all the meetings with his parents about sneaking around Up There and about the theft of the book, neither Wyatt nor Gideon spoke of what Gideon had said outside the door. Maybe Gideon thought -- or just hoped -- Wyatt hadn't heard. But Wyatt had heard, and because of that, he had known since he was thirteen years old how he stood. Gideon wished Wyatt had never been born. Gideon thought Wyatt was dangerous. Gideon wanted to take away Wyatt's powers. But knowing this truth made Wyatt only more powerful, and Gideon had to know that -- why else was he so determined to pretend nothing had ever been said? _Pretend all you want_ , Wyatt would think. _I know who you are._

* * * *

Paige was assigned to take over Sigmund's class. Wyatt was enough past adolescence himself to wish he could be anywhere but in this classroom, with a collection of teenagers mouthing off at Paige and bullying each other. One -- while glamoured as a fellow student, no less -- had been dangling another student in midair, to the laughter of the rest of the class, when Paige and Wyatt walked in.

Once Paige got that sorted out, "Slick" -- which seemed to be the glamouring student's name -- noticed Wyatt and sniggered, "Who is he, Teach, your bodyguard?"

For a split second forgetting he had no telekinetic powers, Wyatt raised a hand to slam the brat into a chair and against a wall. The gesture and Wyatt's imposing presence, though, was enough to do the trick: Slick took an involuntary step back and stumbled into a chair, which provoked an appreciative snicker from the kid who had been dangling in the air and drew giggles from his classmates. Slick mumbled something about "just asking a question" while Paige stepped forward and moved Wyatt's arm down to his side.

"Okay, okay," she said. "This is Michael. He's a visitor, just like me. But he's just an observer and will sit in the back there, because I definitely don't need a bodyguard, thanks." She pointed Wyatt in the direction of a chair outside the circle of students' desk, against a wall.

"I can't promise to not turn anyone into a toad."

"Not if I do it first," Paige muttered near Wyatt's ear. Then a little louder: "Have a seat." She looked around the classroom. "All of you."

The students scurried and sauntered to their seats. Slick slouched in his, casting a resentful look at Wyatt before he returned to sneering at Paige. But at least he had shut up.

Paige wasn't half bad at winging it based on Sigmund's lesson plan. But none of the subject matter was new to Wyatt, and he turned his mental energy to his own plans. Magic School -- he had made it in. He couldn't believe he had wasted so much time running down Chris's dead ends, when the past held this opportunity.

In his time, in the future, it was one challenge he had so far failed to conquer: The Elders' protected realms were closed to him. The Elders had found a way to slam all the metaphorical and actual doors in his face: to Magic School, Up There, any dimension they created and guarded. Wyatt couldn't orb in; he couldn't even enter as another Whitelighter's passenger -- Chris had once tried to bring Wyatt along, take him Up There to talk to their father.

Wyatt had even tried the little door spell, repeatedly and with variations, but it had never worked. Apparently, it couldn't create portals to different dimensions. 

It was more than an affront to Wyatt's pride. It was a practical matter. He had a potion, a special potion that he had invented himself in his later school days here. And that was the problem: The potion drew part of its power from being brewed within the Elders' domain. And once Wyatt was shut out, he had to ration out what remained until he finally used the last drop.

Now, in the past, he finally had a chance to replenish the supply.

As Paige talked to her class about telekinesis and fielded questions about the difference between the traditional power and her Whitelighter-influenced version, in his mind Wyatt took a tally of the ingredients he'd need. Some of them were going to take a little more work than walking into an apothecary. And the most difficult ingredient of all ... well, one way or another, that acquisition was probably going to take some violence. But he could leave that till last -- it would be better that way.

All he had to do was earn Gideon's trust and keep on his good side long enough to pull the potion together. Then he could jar it up and return to his future. Simple, right? If it had been anyone but Gideon, that is. Wyatt wondered if it might be easier to convince Leo or Paige to take him Up There, but, secret rooms aside, he balked at trying to carry this off in a place swarming with Elders. Better to try to deal with just this one, no matter how repellant Wyatt found him.

The sound of a deep-toned, pulsing alarm jolted Wyatt out of his thoughts. The students jumped up, but Paige yelled, "Stay here!" as she ran out of the classroom. Wyatt followed, passing her on their way to the great hall. He got there just as his parents and Gideon did.

"Anyone hurt?" Leo said over the chaos of panicking students.

Gideon scanned the room. "Not yet."

Paige ran in, asking as she did so, "You guys okay?"

"Paige, you're a teacher now, you need to be careful," Gideon warned.

"Piper!" Paige called out.

There was much screaming and ducking and running, but not quick enough for Piper's sake. The Headless Horseman had appeared out of nowhere, and brought down its blade, decapitating her before it vanished.

Wyatt had seen plenty shocking things in his life, and had been unfazed by most, but nothing quite like the sight of seeing his mother's head on the floor -- looking more than a little irritated.

"Great," she said. "Just great."

* * * *

"Ow! Sweetie, watch the hair."

"Sorry," Wyatt told Piper.

Paige had carried the head into the Manor, but when Piper wanted to be placed on a tall cabinet, it was up to Wyatt to put her up there. He moved a plant with spreading, spiky leaves out of her way and stepped back.

Leo had been dispatched to remove little Wyatt from the nursery and take him Up There for the time being. No way was Piper trusting the safety of any corner of that school now. Piper had ordered Paige and big Wyatt to take her head to the Manor, while Gideon orbed her body to the room holding the school's growing collection.

"You doing okay up there, honey?" Paige asked Piper.

"Actually, I feel a little woozy."

"You know, maybe I should just go upstairs and check the Book and see if there's a spell that can fix this."

"Or we can find the little child that conjured the Horseman and vanquish it."

"That's got my vote," Wyatt said. "It might reverse the spell."

"I'm hoping," Piper said.

"Yeah, I keep getting this weird feeling that it's one of the students in my class," said Paige.

"Nothing weird about that feeling," Wyatt said. "Those brats deserve to be the prime suspects."

"Okay, well, my thinking was who better to turn than one of the most powerful kids there? I say, let's bring them here."

"What?" Piper said.

"Yeah, if we get them away from the school, they can't conjure the Horseman. That way we keep them here long enough to figure out who it is."

"Are you going back in there?" Piper asked. 

"Well, yeah. I'm going back in. I have to, to get the students here."

"But if we're targets now ... uh-oh. Phoebe."

"I'll go," Wyatt said.

"No," Paige said. "I'm the teacher, remember? You don't have the authority to get the students."

"Both of you go," said Piper. "I don't want either of you walking around that place alone. I'll be fine. Go get Phoebe, go get the students, and be quick about it."

"Are you really going to vanquish the kid that did this?" Wyatt asked.

"I don't see why not. Look at me!" Then Piper sighed. "I suppose no one is dead -- not yet. If we can reverse the spell, with no permanent harm done, then I guess we have to try to 'understand' his or her pain and try to rehabilitate the little sh--student. Now, go on. Look after each other." 

Paige and Wyatt went to find Phoebe first. Paige said she would sense where Phoebe was in Magic School's maze of rooms and passages, but as far as Wyatt could tell, they were orbing at random. They landed in a pantry, an empty auditorium, between shelves in a library, and in the middle of a classroom, where about ten students looking to be about six or seven years old scattered away at Paige and Wyatt's sudden appearance.

"Sorry, sorry," Paige said as the teacher gave them a reproving look.

"Are you sure you know what you're doing?" Wyatt said.

"Hey. You're welcome to try. Oh, wait, you can't, so don't criticize my technique. Phoebe is being elusive..."

Paige and Wyatt noticed the teacher and children staring at them. Paige took Wyatt's arm.

"Okay, we're going -- oh hey! I think I got her."

And this time, she had. They materialized in a place that barely looked like a room -- it was dark and cave-like. Phoebe and a young woman -- a shaman, Wyatt guessed -- sat opposite each other across a small open fire. Phoebe's hand was to her shoulder, where the skin had a small, superficial cut.

"There you are. I've been looking all over for you, Pheebs." Paige said, and then apparently noticed the shoulder: "Are you okay? What happened, the Horseman?"

"No, uh, my inner demons, apparently."

"Well, it's good to see at least you have your head -- unlike Piper."

"What?"

"Yeah, the Horseman got her," Paige said. 

Wyatt added, "Her body's still in the school, though, so she's still alive. Her head is at the Manor."

"And her head is a little grumpier than normal, but hey," Paige said. "Anyway, you really should get out of here before, you know, you get chopped."

Phoebe met eyes with the shaman. "I think I should stay here."

"Why?" Paige asked.

"Because Gideon put me on this path for a reason. And I believe that there are answers here. I'll be okay, and you two know where to find me if you need me."

The shaman girl had said nothing, merely smiling mysteriously while she arranged her talismans and stirred her potion. Both Paige and Wyatt looked a little askance at her. Wyatt couldn't decide if her air of seeing through all of them was irritating or worrying or both. Paige's train of thought was different.

"Okay, but remember that she's a suspect too," she told Phoebe, taking Wyatt's arm again.

They orbed to Paige's classroom, where Slick's snigger greeted them: "He's not her bodyguard, he's her boyfriend. You bring him everywhere you go?"

Paige seemed to decide ignoring Slick was the best tactic, and the other students picked up on that cue when she snapped at them: "All right, everybody, up and out of here. We're taking a little field trip."

"Where?" said the kid who had been dangled in midair.

"Zachary, right?" He nodded, and Paige continued, "We're going to the Halliwell Manor." There were some impressed murmurs at this. "Let's go, you can leave your stuff here, get moving."

Paige took a head count as they shuffled out the door and then Wyatt joined her as she began to lead the group down the hallway.

"Hey, I need you in back, herding," she told him.

"You can manage. I want you to leave me here."

"What? I'd be in so much trouble with your--" At Wyatt's warning look, she corrected herself. "Piper told us to stick together."

"I'll walk with you to the door -- then I'll head back to the great hall. I spotted something there that gave me an idea."

"An idea for what?"

"Ferreting out the culprit."

They were in sight of the door to the Manor. "All right," Paige said. "Just understand that you'll have to take the blame for this, because if something happens to you, I don't want to have Piper blowing me up. Not that she could right now, but you know what I mean."

She opened the door and started ushering the kids through. Wyatt just heard his mother's voice from the other side -- "What's that? Who is that?" -- as he walked away.

He found the great hall deserted, as he'd hoped. All he had really seen in their brief time there earlier were the cabinets, which he knew from long-ago experience held items that were ancient and potentially useful.

He looked over their contents, dragging over a chair to inspect the highest shelves, crouching low for ones near the floor. Many of the items were familiar to him; some of them, in the future, were in his possession. Here, he just took a mental inventory. It was down on a low shelf that he found what he was looking for. He sat cross-legged on the floor and pulled toward him a wooden box of crystals -- not unlike the one Paige had been toting around the Manor during that matter with the Order. But the crystals in this one were impossibly old, and came from who knew what dimension. Two of them Wyatt recognized as his in the future; wanting to keep it that way, he let them be for now. He chose instead an unfamiliar one, replacing the box on the shelf. He did not immediately stand, but inspected his find, feeling its energy.

"I do not believe you have permission to be here."

It was like memory come to life: Wyatt turned and looked up to see Gideon, lofty and stern-faced, looming over him.


	10. Chapter 10

"Those items may not look protected, but they are," Gideon intoned. "Michael, was it?"

"Yes." Wyatt got to his feet, still holding the crystal, and now he had the advantage of height, but Gideon did not back away. He held out his hand.

_Stay on his good side._ Wyatt handed the crystal over and -- hoping his repulsion didn't show -- said, "Sorry. Sir."

"I thought you had returned to the Manor with Piper and Paige."

"I did. But Paige came back to get her students, and I came with her, to protect her."

Gideon raised his eyebrows slightly -- Wyatt guessed he didn't think a witch without active powers would provide much useful protection to a Charmed One.

Wyatt went on: "I asked to stay -- I had an idea I wanted to try out, a way to find out who's doing this. So, Paige took her students to the Manor and I came here. No one told me I wasn't allowed."

"Your 'idea' involved taking a millennia-old crystal?"

"It involved _using_ a millennia-old crystal, yes. I suppose I could have tried with one of the sisters' ordinary scrying crystals, but I thought more power might be needed since I'm thinking outside the box a little here."

"What are you trying to do?"

"Track the magic back to its source. I've had some experience with this. Maybe the tracking I've done in the past is not quite the same, but I think the principal will still apply." 

He didn't tell Gideon that this "experience" involved enchanting custom-made probes to search the city and detect renegade witches. There wouldn't be any need to involve such remote technology here, though. It would be a little old-fashioned, hands-on magic.

Gideon fingered the crystal in his hand as he considered Wyatt. "I'd rather you not work here unsupervised. You'll forgive me, but I don't know you."

"Leo vouched for me."

"I don't think he did, not exactly. He simply told me the barest information about who you are."

"Talk to Leo. He trusts me. He knows I want to help."

Unexpectedly, Gideon laid the crystal on one of the tables and pulled out a chair. "Have a seat," he said. "You may work on your idea here. Under my supervision."

Once, when Wyatt was fourteen, he had put serious effort into acquiring Darklighter poison, with Gideon in mind. He had failed, but he took a moment now to wonder if he could pull it off here in the past.

Outwardly, he obediently sat in the chair, pulled the crystal toward him, and tried to concentrate on it. Gideon wandered over to a bookshelf, took down a volume, and began to look through it, or pretend to do so, in between glances at Wyatt.

Wyatt closed his eyes, and resumed his attempt to connect to the object's magic, while letting his mind turn over words of a possible spell. _To reveal a witch unknown..._

He didn't get very far. Both he and Gideon jumped to attention at the distant sound of hooves, followed by the blaring alarm. Their eyes met.

"The Manor," Wyatt said, and Gideon nodded.

Apparently caring nothing for supervising now, Gideon orbed away in a cloud of purple lights, leaving behind Wyatt, who grabbed the crystal and ran out of the hall and toward the door that led to the Manor. It was open when he reached it, and he walked in on Gideon and Paige already in intense discussion.

"But you can't wait for her," Gideon was saying. "You have to go after the Horseman now."

"By myself? No. I can't vanquish him."

"You don't have to. All you have to do is lead him back to the school, so that at least nobody will be killed."

"The Horseman got out?" Wyatt asked.

"Out through the sunroom," Paige said.

"If you're going to find him, I'll go with you." He held up the crystal to Gideon. "I need to get close to the Horseman for this to work."

"All right. I'll help you, Paige. You, Michael, do what you need to do, but stopping the Horseman takes priority."

Before Wyatt could take Paige's arm -- or explain to her what he was talking about with the crystal -- Gideon waved a hand and Wyatt found himself carried along in a cloud of purple orb lights. The unusual color aside, traveling with Gideon felt exactly like anyone else's orbs, so why did tendrils of panic spring up and begin to twist deep inside him? Wyatt forcibly stamped the feeling down, so that when they arrived in the alleyway -- seconds later, though it felt far longer -- he was in control, if slightly nauseated.

Paige had arrived alongside them. And the next thing they all saw was the Horseman, which galloped down the alleyway until it reached a crouching thug -- and decapitated him. Wyatt threw himself to the ground just to the side of its path, holding out the crystal and wondering how many bones ghostly hooves might break if he misjudged this.

But he did not get trampled. He felt the rush of magical energy pass him by as he muttered the spell he had been mentally tossing around back in the great hall:

_To reveal a witch unknown_   
_Let the power enter this stone_

Had he the time, he would have refined it, but he was satisfied to see the crystal faintly glow -- the brief little light was just barely detectable, nearly drowned out by the blaze from the Magic School door that Gideon had conjured. The Horseman ran through and disappeared, and then the door was gone as well.

"Well, at least we got him back?" Paige said.

Gideon said, "Not soon enough I'm afraid. The death of an innocent means the death of Magic School."

She sighed and pulled out her phone. "I've got to call Darryl, give him a heads up."

"We've got to get back," said Wyatt, who had climbed to his feet, keeping a tight grip on the still-warm crystal.

"We can't just leave him like this."

Wyatt showed her the crystal. "And I may have found a way to detect the culprit, but I've never done this before, so I don't know how long the energy I caught is going to stay in this thing."

"Okay, you're not making any sense," said Paige, who had already dialed. "Darryl!" And she turned away to explain what had happened, leaving Wyatt standing, frustrated, next to the fretting Gideon.

Once she disconnected the call and said that the police, including Darryl, were on their way, Gideon said, "Michael is right. If there's a way to find where this is coming from, we can at least prevent more tragedy."

"All right," Paige said. "I'll be there as soon as I can. But we are going to talk about this 'death of Magic School' business when I get there. Go on."

Wyatt had no good reason to demand that Paige take him back. Gideon couldn't stay behind and deal with the police -- he'd be ridiculously incompetent at it. Of course, Wyatt didn't see much point in talking to the police anyway -- let mortals deal with their own. They'd just consider it an unsolved murder forever and that was that. 

But he doubted that argument would fly with Paige. In short, he had no choice but to endure being enveloped by those purple lights again. And he did, stumbling a little away from Gideon on the landing. He pushed the experience out of his mind as fast as he could.

"When I started this school, I made a promise that the magic within would never harm a soul," Gideon said.

"Why don't you wait to hear what Paige finds out?" Wyatt tried to keep the annoyance out of his voice, but he needed that school to remain open. Once he got back to his future, Gideon could burn the place down for all he cared, but right now, it was the only Elder-controlled realm that he could reasonably hope to have access to. 

"It's too late," Gideon said. "The damage has already been done."

"For the moment, I'm going to focus on stopping further damage. It would help if you'd go get Phoebe."

To Wyatt's surprise, Gideon nodded at this and orbed away.

Walking toward the sunroom, Wyatt called out, "Piper! Are you okay?"

"Hunky-dory," she answered.

He was concentrating on the crystal as he walked into the sunroom, but looked up at the sound of croaking. The students were standing in a wary semicircle around a toad.

"Anybody else want to try me?" Piper asked them.

Wyatt made an appreciative chuckle when he noticed Slick was missing. Bodiless and all, Piper looked pretty pleased with herself as well.

"What happened out there?" she asked.

Wyatt stood face to face with her, the students (and toad) behind him. "Somebody got killed. An innocent -- sort of. A mortal. Gideon's saying he's shutting the school down." The students behind him murmured in reaction to this news.

"And what have you got there?"

Wyatt had raised the crystal, letting it sway at the end of its worn leather cord. It was beginning to circle.

"This," he told her, "was within inches of the Horseman -- maybe the apparition even passed through it. And it captured some of that magical energy. Energy that now wants to return to its source. My own variation on scrying."

"Did you get all this talent from me?"

He couldn't help smile back at her, and at the way the faint glow had returned to the crystal. It was pulling now, as scrying crystals normally pull at a map, but this one was leading him to turn around, toward the group of students.

It wasn't taking him toward Slick, but honestly, Wyatt never thought that idiot could have pulled this off. Wyatt narrowly avoided stepping on the toad as he followed the crystal. Its glow grew stronger and Wyatt nearly lost his grip on the cord as it suddenly yanked itself toward that kid who had been dangling in class -- Zachary, Paige had called him.

"Gotcha," Wyatt said.

And then the world went still.

* * * *

Wyatt had never been frozen before, but he knew from observing his mother's power that its subjects didn't feel the passage of time. Now he knew that to be true through personal experience. One moment before, he had been in the Manor's sunroom, facing that kid Zachary, the glowing crystal in his hand and his mother's head on a cabinet behind him. The next moment, his mother, completely herself again, head to toe, was standing in front of him. They were in Paige's -- Sigmund's -- classroom in Magic School, along with the rest of the students, who were talking excitedly while a whole Sigmund tried to settle them down. At some point, the crystal had been removed from Wyatt's hand.

"You've missed a lot," Piper said.

"No kidding. What happened?"

She took a deep breath and launched into it: "Zachary's a telepath who was tapping into others' powers. He tapped into my freezing power and somehow used it to freeze a room full of good witches -- don't ask me how, because I can't do it. So he kidnapped me, took me into the school, and Paige and Phoebe came after me, and they got decapitated, too. But we worked out a Power of Three spell to get reunited with our bodies. I told Gideon about your crystal pinpointing Zachary -- not to mention about the kidnapping -- and they had it out. We talked him down. And that was that."

She delivered all this as if she were describing a mildly annoying day at work.

As they began walking together toward the door leading to the Manor, Wyatt asked, "And where's that kid?"

"Oh, at home with his parents, where he wants to be. Just a disgruntled teenager, feeling ignored and maltreated and homesick and hating being magical."

"He hates being magical, so he powers up and someone gets killed."

"The best that can be said about that is that the victim was a wanted murderer, according to Darryl. I guess aside from all teachers and us, the Horseman targeted the guilty? Don't ask me. Not my decision."

_I can't believe I got expelled from this place_ , Wyatt thought.

Aloud, he said, "So, Gideon's shutting the school down."

"No, Paige talked him out of that."

"Good."

"Were you worried about this place for any particular reason?"

"Why, are you thinking about sending your son here?"

"After all this?" Piper shook her head. "Suddenly, I'm more concerned about separating him from his family than raising him as an only child."

They walked the corridor in silence for a minute or so, then Piper said, "So, what is it that you came around for, before all this started?"

"Oh. Right. I was coming to tell you that I was ready to leave."

They had reached the door to the Manor.

"Leave? Seems like you only just got here. And what about--?"

With a tilt of his head, Wyatt communicated that they should continue this conversation in the Manor, away from Magic School and any possible eavesdroppers.

They stepped through and had barely reached the foyer when they both felt the door's disappearance before they turned around and saw it. Piper looked relieved to see the wall returned to normal; Wyatt gritted his teeth to lose that entrance, though he hadn't really expected it to be a permanent fixture.

"What about Chris?" Piper said as they moved into the living room. Leo was there, sitting with little Wyatt.

"What about him?" Leo asked.

Piper continued to address Wyatt: "What about all the stuff he might have done that you were going to check out? Making sure he didn't mess up the future too much."

"These past weeks, I've followed up on all possible leads. Do you know, there was one demon on call, just waiting for Chris to have a chance alone with little Wyatt, without any of the family around, then Chris was going to summon it."

"To do what?" Leo asked.

To scan for "evil," a completely harmless and useless activity. From Chris's notes and from the mouth of the demon himself, Wyatt knew this, but to his parents he said, "Who knows? It couldn't have been anything good."

"None of this is convincing me that the problem is in hand," Piper said.

"I vanquished that demon. I vanquished a lot of Chris's 'demon contacts.' But I saw no evidence anywhere that he made the slightest bit of difference here." Wyatt looked between Piper and Leo and told them something of the real truth that had been on his mind: "I just don't see him being a problem in the future. It'll be like he never existed."

"Uh huh," Piper said, sounding unconvinced. "So, have you worked out a way to get back?"

From his jacket pocket, Wyatt pulled out a piece of paper and handed it to her. "I wrote this -- I think it'll work with the Power of Three."

"Oh." She looked at the spell. "Well, why don't we call your aunts right now and send you on your way?"

"You keep it," Wyatt said, deflecting her attempt at a guilt trip. "I'll know where to find you when I need it. After all this, I've changed my mind."

"About Chris?"

"No. I swear to you, Mom, he's nothing to worry about. I mean that I'm not ready to go back yet. There's something I need to do ..." He looked at Leo. "It involves Magic School. I can't tell you what it is; I can only tell you it's important that I do some research there. But I need your help to get in."

* * * *

On an early morning a couple days after, Leo was waiting at P3's bar when his son arrived. Wyatt had proposed the meeting place and had hung up before Leo could offer to play orb taxi. _He has an independent streak, that's for sure_ , Leo thought.

And apparently he had not much inclination to chat. He didn't sit down, but stood next to Leo's barstool and immediately asked, "Did you talk to Gideon?"

"I did."

"Did you convince him to trust me?"

"Actually, I didn't have to. He brought you up first."

"Why?" There was a faint hint of suspicion in his voice.

"He was very impressed with you. That magic you worked with the crystal -- he thought it was creative and," Leo added with an apologetic smile, "nothing he would have expected from a witch without active powers."

"I'm flattered -- I guess."

"And he has a job for you, if you're open to it."

Wyatt looked startled. "What kind of job?"

"He said he couldn't tell me. But I brought up that you were interested in doing some research on your own at Magic School, and he seemed open to the idea."

"In exchange for me doing the work."

"Maybe," Leo granted.

"Running errands for Gideon is not what I stayed here to do."

Leo shook his head with a slight chuckle.

"What?" Wyatt asked.

"Oh, it's just -- I think I was sitting in this exact same spot with Chris and he told me pretty much the same thing when I tried to assign him a charge."

"Did he? You know, in that case, I'll do it. How do I get to Gideon?"

Leo waved his arm and a door appeared on the wall behind P3's stage. He put a hand on Wyatt's shoulder and said with a smile, "I get the impression you share your mom's distrust of Elders. Try not to give Gideon too hard a time. He's been on our family's side for a long time."

"Don't worry," Wyatt said, moving away from Leo's touch and toward the door. "I'll behave myself."

Leo watched him walk away, and just as Wyatt was shutting the Magic School door behind him, a voice came from P3's entrance.

"Wyatt? Wyatt! Hey, I need to ..."

But Wyatt was gone, and then the door itself vanished. Leo looked to see Phoebe's shoulders sag in disappointment as she stood at the bottom of P3's stairs. She sighed, waved hello to Leo, and walked over to join him.

"What are you doing here at this hour?" he asked.

"Piper told me you were meeting Wyatt here. I need to talk to him."

"Did you try calling him?"

"Yes, and he hasn't returned my call. So, okay, I thought I'd try ambushing him. I'm just kinda anxious to talk to him, you know?"

"Is there a problem?"

"No ... not exactly." She pulled a little red plastic drink stirrer from a dispenser and fiddled with it, not looking Leo in the eye.

"Phoebe?"

She gave him a pained look, almost on the verge of talking, but then shook her head. "I can't, I can't. I need to talk to Wyatt about this."

"Which means it's about the future, and it's about that vision quest of yours."

"Yeah." She seemed almost relieved to admit just that. "And, you know, future consequences and all that." However merited the sentiment, Leo couldn't help but frown slightly at Phoebe pulling out Chris's familiar refrain, but she plowed on: "There's something I saw that I don't really understand. But I feel like I should understand, you know? I have an idea of what it means, and then I think, no, that can't possibly be right ... I don't want to talk about it until I'm sure. And I can't be sure until I talk to Wyatt."

* * * *

Wyatt stepped into Magic School, and the door Leo had created immediately closed behind him. P3 was gone. Again, he made his way toward the great hall. He hadn't reached it before Gideon materialized out of the shadows.

"Ah, Leo spoke with you then."

"Yes, but he didn't explain what you wanted."

"Come with me. Classes are about to let out, and this is not a matter for students to overhear."

Wyatt followed, and he could soon tell where they were headed: Gideon's office. Wyatt was all too familiar with the route and the destination. They did not speak as they walked along, and Wyatt recalled those times, those many times of being "talked to," scolded, berated for his "misdeeds" -- that is, for using his powers in ways Gideon wanted to rein in. His parents were often there, and once in a while even they thought Gideon was trying to constrict their son too much. Wyatt would be sent to the office's outer room where he'd hear indistinct voices in discussion, Dad patiently arguing his case, Mom snappish and sarcastic. Most of the time, though -- and with increasing concern in the months leading to his expulsion -- they backed Gideon as the head of the school.

And Wyatt, when he wasn't explosively arguing back, would let the adults talk while he imagined ways to make Gideon suffer -- ways that became increasingly creative as the years went by. He may not have gotten his hands on Darklighter poison (not before Gideon was out of reach, anyway), but Wyatt had found the imaginary punishments oddly calming. He wondered if the trick would work now.

The office looked much the same. The furniture and decorations had apparently never been changed or even rearranged. After shutting the door behind them, Gideon walked to his desk -- which still held the crystal ball Wyatt knew he used to spy on the school. Next to his ornate, high-backed chair, Gideon turned to face Wyatt with a flourish and a serious look. Wyatt regarded him blandly while imagining a fireball igniting Gideon's swept-back hair. Not too creative, but effective all the same. Yes, that still worked.

"That was a fine piece of magic during the recent incident with the Headless Horseman," Gideon said. "Whatever the limitations of your active powers, you showed inventiveness and creative thought."

"I try. What do you want from me?"

"I have a task that may be suited to your skills. It's a simple hunt for a certain object I need."

"It can't be that simple, or you would do it yourself."

"It's a matter of some delicacy, one that would be difficult for me, as an Elder, to carry out. And time is an issue as well. This may take some detective work, including in demonic realms, and I have this school to run as well as my other Elder duties."

"What do I get out of this? I'm here from out of town. The Halliwells have been kind, but I have to support myself."

"I'm sure we can make some arrangements to provide for you while--"

"More importantly, I came here to learn. How do I do that if I'm spending all my time on your quest?"

"I'm sure the quest could be a learning experience in itself."

"I want access to Magic School."

"I'm sorry?"

"Not go to classes. I'm way past that. I just want access to books, supplies, a little side room where I can research, make any potions I need. I can't go into demonic realms unprotected. That's how this quest can be a learning experience. I can research while gathering the knowledge and tools I need to carry it out."

"That seems reasonable. I will find you a room to work. An out-of-the-way room, that is. I need to impress upon you the confidential nature of this work. You may speak about it with no one -- not even the Halliwells. The only exception -- besides myself, of course -- will be Sigmund. He can help you find any books or supplies you need."

"Good. All right, just what is this thing?"

Gideon held up his hands toward the ceiling, and from a high shelf a hefty, ancient book floated down and landed in his open palms. He laid it out gently on his desk, and with a telekinetic flutter of pages that ought to have crumbled with age at the breeze, he opened it to a page with illustrations of several weapons.

Gideon pointed at the image of an athame printed on the page's bottom corner. "There it is. You may start your research with this book, but as I already well know, it is not very informative."

Wyatt kept his face carefully blank as he studied the picture; he didn't allow Gideon to see the surprise of recognition. Wyatt knew exactly where to find that athame: twenty-three years in the future, in a weapons cabinet in his quarters at the top of San Francisco's Pyramid.


	11. Chapter 11

When Cole had approached the resistance, he had committed to running interference, giving them information, providing what protection he could. But right now, he was wishing Chris had not dragged him into the fallout from this harebrained time-travel scheme. Then Cole could, in happy ignorance, let Caza try to track Wyatt down and draw an utter blank; he wouldn't have to worry about how much to keep her in the dark about Wyatt's current total absence from their time. He wouldn't even know about it. All he'd have to worry about was the ground beneath him being swallowed into an abyss, probably sometime this afternoon. Simple.

But no such luck. Chris had appeared out of the blue, not dead as many had assumed, but fixated on a plan that Cole could have told him, from hard experience, was bound to go wrong in many possible ways. Though, admittedly, Wyatt being thrown into the past accidentally was not one of the possibilities that would have crossed Cole's mind. (Bianca's death, on the other hand, that had been just a matter of time.)

But, unfortunately, Cole was _not_ blissfully ignorant of the whole mess, and so had to make an attempt to deal with it. And it seemed better to keep Caza clueless for the time being -- if nothing else, to give him time to think. Unfortunately, keeping her clueless would be impossible if she wouldn't give up on the idea that only Wyatt could handle the Andras threat. Controlling what she found out and how could be the best Cole could hope for.

"We can handle this on our own," he told her. "We just need a better plan than show up and get slaughtered. Try thinking things out for once."

"You know, I'm starting to wonder--"

_SLAM._

Both she and Cole jumped as the door to the office was flung open. A demon and a Darklighter walked in, engaged in an apparently highly entertaining conversation, snickering and bantering -- until one of them finally looked toward the end of the room and saw whom they had barged in on. They froze, suddenly tongue-tied.

It would have been smarter to knock, of course, but it wasn't like this room was off-limits, the private domain of higher-ups. It didn't matter: Caza was livid anyway.

"What do you think you're doing?" she snapped. "Stop!"

The two intruders, who were trying to beat a retreat, halted, and she strode over to them. She was about a head shorter than both, she couldn't throw fire, she couldn't even read the Darklighter's mind, but they cowered all the same. 

She lit into them about their behavior, and Cole guessed that aside from a chance to vent her annoyance, she was provoking the demon to give away anything in his thoughts worth hiding. Cole was glad: The distraction gave him the moment he needed, and he covertly pulled his communicator from his pocket.

It would sound at the museum's communication center: one chime to open the "door" Chris could create in the backyard; two chimes to tell him to say the spell to bring the whole thing down. Chris wasn't going to like it, but here was Cole, within two hours of leaving, demanding that Chris lower all the protections. Too bad. As soon as Cole brought Caza inside, the protection could -- should -- come back up again. He could only divert her for so long, but, thanks to Chris's spell on the Manor, Cole now had a place to keep her contained. And she wouldn't even know it -- until she tried to leave, that is. Cole just needed to get her thinking the Manor was the place to be.

He sent the signal, and by the time Caza had hustled the demon and Darklighter out, Cole was empty-handed and relaxed as he asked blandly, "Anything from them?"

"Nothing that requires immediate attention. The Darklighter's stolen a couple weapons from the storeroom -- the demon tried really hard not to think about that. Pathetic. We can deal with them after we've dealt with Andras."

"Don't you think it would be good to have this discussion elsewhere?"

"Fine. Where?"

"The Manor."

"Really? As the tourists wander by?"

"Wyatt has shut it down for the week. It'll be empty and secure."

"And you can get in?"

"Yes, I'm allowed in." _And you're not, but I'll allow you to come along._ Cole held out his hand. "Let's go."

Caza scoffed, "I am not going as your passenger. I'll meet you on the street out front." She shimmered out, leaving Cole to follow.

Caza was gingerly putting her hand forward, feeling for a barrier, when Cole shimmered in seconds later.

Without letting any concern enter his tone, he told her, "If the shield is up, you'll get blasted across the street." That wasn't true, but it sounded good. And she did take a step back, throwing him a resentful look as she did so.

He walked to the foot of the steps leading to the front door, and felt the hum of energy. He put his hand up, palm facing the house, and it encountered faint resistance that increased with the slightest push forward. The shield was still up. _Damn it, Chris._ But even as he thought that, Cole felt the energy drain away and its nearly imperceptible blue glow faded. Good timing -- or more likely, to give the kid credit, Chris had watched for Cole's arrival, not wanting to take that shield down any longer than necessary.

"Come on," he said to Caza, who followed only when Cole walked onto the property himself without getting zapped. Halfway to the porch, Cole looked back, and saw that faintest glow of blue again as the shield was put back in place. Caza kept walking.

The moment they were inside amid the mannequins, she started in on him again. "Why are we here?"

"I thought I made that clear. Privacy, which the Pyramid was noticeably lacking."

"I mean, what is the point of all this? Why are we wasting our time when we should be getting hold of Wyatt? Or a better question may be why you're trying to distract me from contacting him."

Cole made a show of wandering casually among the displays, moving into the sunroom. Remembering a long-ago confession on a beach, he brushed his fingers across the shoulder of a headless mannequin meant to be an approximation of Phoebe-as-mermaid. That had been when things started to really go downhill, which was saying something, considering he had just come back from hell at the time.

He left the memories behind and said to Caza, "I want to work with you to bring down Andras. But you can't contact Wyatt. It's not possible, and it's not a good idea."

"Not a good idea?"

"Go ahead, roam this city looking for him, try all kinds of rituals, and you may not reach him, but you can draw a whole lot of attention to yourself trying. I, for one, would rather keep the hordes in check. It's easier to do that if they don't know he's gone."

Caza seemed torn between seeing his point and her distrust of Cole. "I just think it's interesting that you're insisting he's unreachable -- just when I'm exposing a plot to take out the Pyramid and I want to make sure he knows about it. You claim to want to bring Andras down, but I'm considering a very different possibility."

"Clever. You've figured everything out. Everything except for what's really going on. Come on. You know him. You know that if he's told me anything in confidence, I'd damn well better keep it to myself."

"Are you in with Andras?"

"No. You said yourself, cults are not my style. But try to take in the bigger picture. You're forgetting one other thing that's happened in the past 24 hours."

"And what's that?"

Cole suddenly turned and hurled a fireball into the sitting room, shattering a vase into charred shards as Caza next to him instinctively ducked. There was a crash -- some display knocked over by someone retreating.

Cole called out: "I missed on purpose but I won't next time." 

Caza, on the alert, started to ask, "Who--"

Cole shook his head. "I'm not playing a cat-and-mouse game." And he shimmered out.

Caza had barely moved when he reappeared, not six feet away, with Chris by the collar. Her jaw dropped. "How did he get in here?"

"Like I said, the bigger picture." He threw Chris down into a chair. "Don't even try to orb out. You know this place is sealed."

"Yeah," Chris said slowly. "I know. I -- I've already tried to get out. I'm trapped."

Cole nodded. "Yes, you are."

"Now we _have_ to get hold of Wyatt," Caza said.

"No. We don't."

"You're kidding me. We've rounded up Public Enemy Number One."

"Correction: _I've_ rounded up Public Enemy Number One. You just stood there. I'm sure Chris here will vouch for me as his true captor if you try to steal credit. Won't you?"

Chris folded his arms and looked sulky. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"It doesn't make any difference," Cole said, "because for the last time, Caza, we can't contact Wyatt. Stop asking."

"Are you ever going to bother to explain why?"

"Fine. You know what? Go ahead and try. You know the penalty if he decides you shouldn't have disturbed him, but it won't matter either way. It won't work."

She looked at him with narrowed eyes for a moment, and then said, "He would want to know about this" -- she pointed at Chris, still sulking in the armchair. "I'm calling your bluff, Turner." She pulled out her communicator.

Wyatt had both a knack and a yen for combining magic and technology, as any fugitive witch tracked down by his probes could attest. For Caza and Cole, and those two alone, he had enchanted communicators of his own invention -- that is, invented with the aid of a brilliant and completely amoral engineer who was the lone mortal in Wyatt's employ.

Wyatt would use the communicator to contact Cole and Caza, even though he didn't really need to, with his mental abilities. Cole suspected Wyatt just liked the things, was even proud of them. As for Cole, given his double life, he was constantly having to finesse ways to ditch the communicator -- he could never quite trust that it wasn't bugged. He wondered if Caza did the same thing, for her own obscure reasons. They both understood how rarely they ought to use the devices for anything other than receiving Wyatt's communications -- though, with Wyatt very much out of town, Cole had risked using it to signal Chris.

Now, Caza held hers in her hand. A row of tiny blinking lights lined one side of a silver, flattened oval about the size of her small palm. Chris straightened in his chair slightly to try to get a look at it, but Caza noticed and turned her back on him.

The thing must have been more tied to Wyatt's presence than Cole had imagined. When Caza sent her message with a few taps and swipes on the screen that appeared from the previously blank surface, that should have been that. But the device didn't behave normally -- almost as if it were confused. What should have been a gentle glow that quickly died down was instead a spitting of tiny sparks that fizzled inches above the device -- all except for one that wavered upward before suddenly shooting directly into the ceiling.

They all stared up for a moment, then Caza smirked. "The attic. Of course." She shimmered out.

Cole roughly grabbed Chris's arm and dragged him along, shimmering to the attic himself.

Caza was there. "What the hell happened here?"

Chris hadn't spent his day tidying up from last night's battle with Wyatt. But the Book of Shadows lay open on its stand, Cole noticed. Wyatt, of course, was nowhere to be seen. Nor was the tiny light, which Cole guessed had died once it hit that wall, the one Chris had surrounded with crystals. Cole wondered if Caza had noticed that detail amid the wreckage.

She shook herself out of her shock at the mess around her. "All right," she said. "The second floor then, somewhere."

This time she took the stairs when she left. Slightly leaning out the attic door, Cole watched her walk down, and when she was out of sight and he could hear her begin to search the bedrooms, he turned to Chris.

"What are you doing, bringing her here?" Chris's whisper was annoyed.

"Keeping her contained, as long as you put the shield back up."

"Of course I did, but--"

"She's on a tear about finding Wyatt, if you haven't noticed. Just play your part."

"How am I supposed to work on getting back to the past while playing your prisoner?"

"We've got other problems." But Cole couldn't go into those: Caza walked back in the attic. 

"So we're on our own," she said.

"Which is what I've been trying to tell you all morning."

She pointedly ignored that. "Fantastic. Maybe I'll spend the rest of the day looking for a new place to live. Somewhere not San Francisco."

"If you're going to give up so quickly, have at it. But I'm actually thinking for myself. You say we need Wyatt to deal with Andras? It could be. Or maybe we just need the next best thing: someone else from the Warren bloodline, and another son of a Charmed One at that."

Caza looked at Chris and snorted derisively. "Him?"

"Hey!" Chris protested.

"He can look through the Book of Shadows to see if there's a way to vanquish Andras in there. You and I can't touch it. But you can hang over Chris's shoulder while he pages through and see if you can ID the guy."

"Forget it," Chris said, folding his arms. "I'm not helping you. Deal with your own problems; I've got enough of my own."

Cole half believed that Chris wasn't playing a part right now. "If you don't help, you're sitting back and watching most of downtown San Francisco get destroyed, maybe beyond. If that's what you want..."

"What are you talking about?" Chris's tone had changed, and Cole recognized the shift to genuine concern in the question.

"This demon, Andras, is targeting the Pyramid. Caza's seen him -- she's seen him wipe out a platoon of Wyatt's demons. We don't know how long we have before he strikes, but if you heard about what happened in ... where was that?"

Caza rolled her eyes. "Kansas City."

"No, I didn't hear," Chris said. "I've kind of been out of touch."

"An entire city block was swallowed up by a sinkhole of sorts," Caza said. "The mortals think it was geological, but it wasn't -- it was demonically created, connected to the Underworld, and a test run for the big job: here."

Cole knew the calculation that was crossing through Chris's mind, because he had made it himself: the welcome destruction of Wyatt's headquarters versus the untold deaths of innocents. Probably added into that equation for Chris was that time travel pipe dream of his: Why bother saving the innocents in the here and now when he was going to wipe the slate clean in the past? Assuming Chris could get back to that past, which Cole wasn't banking on.

Making up his mind, Chris sighed and walked to the podium that held the Book of Shadows. "Okay. Where do you want me to sit?"

* * * *

Given the state of the attic, they resettled on the first floor. Chris spread the Book out on a coffee table and paged through it while Caza leaned on the back of the sofa, looking over his shoulder, telling him to turn pages faster and just generally being irritable and irritating. Cole sat in an armchair, affecting a relaxed pose that Chris was sure was an act.

Caza didn't make it easy to concentrate, but then again, Chris only needed to be a page-turner, no concentration required -- except for how he took the chance to look for any kind of spell to get him to the past. He mentally pleaded for some magical assist from the beyond -- for Andras or for time travel, either would do -- but he had already tried that earlier, before Cole and Caza showed up, and no help had come. As usual, he was on his own.

Finally, Caza exclaimed, "There! There he is." At the same time, she leaned forward to plant a pointing finger on the page. She got zapped instead, and Chris had to grab the Book to keep it from flying off the coffee table. Cole chuckled, and Caza threw him a dirty look.

"It does say here that he's been associated with earthquakes and natural disasters throughout his history," Chris said, reading over the entry. "There's a vanquishing spell." Then he sighed. "And it's a Power of Three spell."

"Great," Caza said. "A spell that was only usable for, what, about 20 years at most over the entire span of history? What good is this Book?"

Chris couldn't help but privately agree, on the Power of Three issue, anyway. All those spells had been useless since Mom's death when Chris was fourteen. Phoebe and Paige had tried their best in the years that followed, before they had been killed as well. But it had never been the same.

"We just have to find an alternative," Cole said.

"With him?" Caza said, throwing a look of disdain at Chris. "If he was up to a Power of Three job, then his 'resistance' might actually have succeeded, even just a little. He can't even escape from this house."

_Yeah, well, neither can you_ , Chris thought, recovering his sense of pride with the knowledge that the Manor, at least, was his to control at the moment, whether she knew it or not.

Caza had begun to pace the room. "You know, that gives me an idea. We don't try to vanquish Andras and his minions for the moment -- just take him prisoner. Bring him here, unable to escape from the Manor. Set up a crystal circle to double the security, hold him here until we figure out a vanquish. If he's stuck here, he won't be able to carry out his plans, or at least I can read him to find out how to reverse what he's doing."

"It's not a bad plan," Cole conceded.

"Better than nothing, which is what we've got otherwise," she said.

"So how to take him prisoner?" Cole turned to Chris. "What I wouldn't give for you to have inherited your mother's freezing power."

Chris was tired of being reminded that he was useless. "There are other ways -- you're just going to have to trust me enough to let me out of here."

"No," Caza said. "No way."

"Fine," Chris said, sitting back on the sofa and crossing his arms. "I guess you can use telekinesis to put crystals right around the guy then? Go for it."

"Cole can use telekinesis."

"But I can't activate witches' crystals," Cole reminded her. "I'd rather not even touch the things."

"You can't be serious about letting him out of here."

"Look, it's your plan. Do you have a better idea for catching Andras?"

"Do you know what Wyatt will do if he finds out we had his brother captured and let him go?"

"And is that worse than what he'll do if the Pyramid is destroyed? The decision's not up to you. I say we're using him. I'll shimmer him down there. You can wait--"

"No. I'm taking him," Caza said. "You don't even know where to go." Then she snarled at Chris: "Get the damn crystals."


	12. Chapter 12

"She's like the Indiana Jones of demons. If you're on a hunt for something ancient, you go to Yvonne."

A weapons-dealing warlock in the Demon Market had said this, and if Wyatt hadn't already vanquished him for insisting, violently, on a finder's fee, he'd go back and vanquish him for his advice. The demon in front of him would be nobody's idea of an adventurer. Yvonne was shrunken, frail, ancient herself, almost swallowed up by a deep chair, a blanket over her knees.

"What do you want?" Her voice, though sharp-toned, was quavery.

A far younger and stronger demon had shown them in and now stood to the side, arms crossed, and glowered at Wyatt. He sent the message that he was ready to protect his mistress and her possessions -- this was no spartan demon lair. Yvonne did not affect the rags you'd often see on demon crones; her clothing was simple but well-cared-for and probably costly. 

The butler, or whatever he was, spared only a brief look of scorn for Penka, who was hanging back nervously by the exit. In the market, Penka had acted at home, ignoring the bartering and inspecting the merchandise until the warlock told Wyatt to keep his "pet" under control -- to which Penka got sulky. Wyatt guessed that here the butler made Penka nervous, as it couldn't possibly be Yvonne scaring him.

Standing in front of her, Wyatt said, "I'm looking for something, something rare and old, and I was told you were the demon to see."

She wheezed something like a laugh. "Do I look like I'm up for work?"

He held out a copy of the drawing of the athame. "Some advice, then. What do you know about this?"

Curiosity apparently getting the better of her, she took it. She barely studied it before declaring, "Nothing. I've never seen it before. In my better days, that would be just the start of a hunt, but now? Unless you can get me a new body, go away."

"A new body. You can do that?"

"Not anymore, I can't. I'm about ready to ask Bolek here to go out and find me a mortal. I've waited too long for anything else."

This information seemed to have emboldened Penka, who spoke from the back: "This body she's in, she possessed it."

"Yes," she said, "your little Mero demon is right. Do you always bring your own personal mind-reader with you?"

"It comes in handy," Wyatt answered. "But mostly he's here as transportation."

"Because you needed someone who could shimmer. You're not a demon. A witch?"

"Don't even think about possessing me."

"I can't, believe me." She sighed. "Witches were always my choice. Demons -- I tried that once. Never again. It's far too difficult to beat them back. They'll drive you crazy first. So, as nice as mind reading might be, you're safe, little Mero," she said to Penka. "This witch" -- she gestured down to her own body -- "she put up a fight, of course, and it was a long battle, but I stamped her consciousness out in the end. I got used to her powers, and I earned my fame wearing her face, so why change? I didn't realize until it was too late that I had let it go for too long. Two hundred thirty-two years, and in the past two years this decline hit me. I can't use the witch's powers anymore and I don't have the strength to move to another body. I've tried."

"Mistress," Bolek said, "you must try with a mortal. They have no defenses--"

"Exactly," she spat. "I'd rather die. And I probably would in a mortal's body anyway. They'd crumble to dust in days."

"You're awfully confiding to a stranger," Wyatt said.

She pointed to Penka. "If he's any good, he be able to tell you all this anyway. And I'm dying. Who cares what either of you know?"

"Unless this is a not-so-subtle request for a solution."

"If you find a solution, I'd gladly help you find your little tchotchke." With her wizened hand, she held out the paper with the athame drawing. "Until then, I'm not wasting my remaining brainpower on helping a witch find anything."

A sharp series of beeps startled Wyatt. He pulled his phone from his pocket and silenced it in irritation. _Phoebe_ , the screen told him. He'd been ignoring her for days.

Yvonne watched this in disdain and then said, "Bolek, show them out."

* * * *

Wyatt had Penka drop him off on the street outside _The Bay Mirror_ building. It would have been better to wait for Phoebe right in her office, but Wyatt didn't know exactly where that was inside. He shooed Penka away, then hit redial on the record of one of her endless calls -- and heard the phone ring behind him.

He turned to see Phoebe walking out of the building. In one hand, she grasped both an envelope and her purse while the other fished in the bag to answer the call. When she looked up and saw him, he made a show of disconnecting the call.

"Wyatt!" She rushed up to him, closing the purse. 

"Michael out on the street here, please," he reminded her under his breath.

She didn't respond to that. "I've been calling you all week."

"I've been busy. Didn't Leo tell you I was doing some work for Gideon?"

"Yes, but--"

"And your latest call just interrupted a negotiation, bringing it to an end." Not exactly true, but close enough.

"That's not my fault -- you know these phones have this little thing called mute? If you're in a delicate negotiation, try it. Your search is going well?"

"Not so far, no." A worker passed them, headed inside and throwing them a curious look, and Wyatt asked, "Aren't you supposed to be going into work at this hour?"

"Yeah," she said, steering him away from the building's entrance and lowering her voice. "When I was going through my mail, I got a premonition of a woman being attacked." She held up the envelope. "I've got to get back to the Manor and scry for this letter writer."

"Oh. I'll let you get to that. Good luck," Wyatt said and turned to walk away.

Phoebe grabbed his arm. "Oh no, mister, I've got you -- I'm not letting you go now. You're coming with me. We have to talk, and the drive to the Manor will be perfect."

"How are you going to force me into your car?"

"You're the one that showed up here."

"To get you to stop pestering me before I get so annoyed that I give this phone back to Piper."

"It's important -- important enough that, believe me, I can out-stubborn you on this. Just hear me out. Please."

Something in her tone set off a faint warning signal, telling Wyatt that now he had to find out what she was talking about. What she knew -- or thought she knew.

"Where's your car?" he asked.

Once on the road, however, she gave him a fretful look and retreated. "Let's talk about this at the Manor. I don't think I can handle this conversation while driving."

"What about your innocent? You're going to waste time talking to me at the Manor when you could be scrying for them?"

"You can help," she said with false brightness. "We can talk while you help."

So once again, Wyatt found himself at the Manor doors. Phoebe poked her head in and called out, "Piper? Paige?" When she got no answer, she bustled in. "Oh good, we're alone. No cars out front, but you never can tell, with orbing and all. Come on."

Moving into the sunroom, she pulled from a drawer in a side table a crystal and some folded maps that she spread out on a coffee table. Wyatt settled on a sofa opposite her.

"All right," he said. "What is it? Before I give up on you and get back to my own business."

Phoebe sighed and set the crystal down on the map. Maybe she wasn't going to handle this conversation while scrying, either. She leaned on her knees, lacing her fingers together. "Last week," she said, "at Magic School, with that shaman -- I had a vision. A vision of the future."

"And?"

"And I saw you -- you were maybe about ten years old?" She hesitated, and distracted herself by picking up the crystal, beginning to let it swing in circles over the map. Then she said, "And I saw your little brother."

Wyatt stayed carefully expressionless. "I can't help what you saw in a vision. I'm not going to tell you about the future."

"Well, the future is what my power's all about. So maybe you can meet me halfway."

"You want me to confirm what you saw? That your vision comes true and I have a brother?"

"No, I'm taking that on faith. What I'm trying to understand is who I saw. A little boy, maybe a couple years younger than you, brown hair, green eyes ... and no one in my vision said his name. But I knew him. In the vision, he spoke to me, and in that moment I knew him."

"And what did this boy say?"

"He said, 'Aunt Phoebe, we need your help.' A pretty direct message, wouldn't you say?"

Wyatt leaned back on the sofa and crossed his arms. "Why don't you come right out and say it?"

She looked him in the eye, arm suspended but unmoving above the map. "Why have you been lying to us about Chris? He's your brother."

"I never said he wasn't."

"You said he was evil!"

"Why do you think that's a lie?"

"Because I haven't believed it from the start. It didn't make any sense."

Wyatt shrugged. "It made sense to Mom and Dad."

Phoebe briefly struggled for an answer to this before shaking her head. She picked up the envelope with her free hand and crumpled it as she directed her energy to scrying again. "I trusted him," she said. "We all -- we were all coming to trust him, until you poisoned your parents' minds against him, and he's not even born yet."

"And he may not ever, so this problem may just disappear."

"What do you mean?"

"Going by his birthday, he's supposed to be conceived around this time. But this guy you trust so much came back to the past and broke up our parents' marriage. Unless something changes soon, there won't ever have been a Chris."

Phoebe turned over that conjugation: "'Won't ... have ... been ...'" She threw up her hands, the crystal flipping in the air with the gesture. "Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

"I'm not happy about it. For one thing, I didn't grow up with divorced parents. And as much of a pain in the ass as Chris has been, I don't want him erased from existence. But he did it to himself, and there's nothing we can do about it."

"Oh, here's an idea: We could tell Piper and Leo the truth. We could try to fix this, or at the very least not let their only memory of Chris be of some stranger who betrayed them!"

The sound of the orbing coming from the foyer made them both jump. "Anybody here?" a voice called. It was Paige.

Phoebe's and Wyatt's eyes met, and she held his stare as she responded, "In here!" By the time Paige entered, Phoebe had returned her full attention to the map.

"Oh hey! I thought you'd be at work -- both of you, now that Wyatt's working with Gideon."

"I was at work," Phoebe said and held up the envelope. "Until I got a premonition. There's no return address, so I'm on the hunt for an innocent." She looked at Wyatt. "He's helping."

Paige looked a little perplexed, evidently catching on to the tension in the air. Phoebe took to scrying in earnest and, with no badgering of Wyatt to divide her attention, soon the crystal yanked itself toward a point -- off the map, in fact. It had skipped over San Francisco and had landed on the edge of another map underneath.

Phoebe pulled off the top layers to see where the crystal was headed.

"Oh hey," Paige said. "That's the world map I used to scry for Leo when he was in Valhalla."

"And how did Dad end up there, I wonder?" Wyatt said pointedly to Phoebe. 

But he was going to have to wait for that story. The crystal, which had begun moving again, had landed in the middle of the Arabian Desert.

Since Wyatt was "helping" -- and wanted to keep tabs on Phoebe -- he went along for the ride when Paige orbed them to what turned out to be a cave in the desert.

"Looks like a dig site," Phoebe said. "Maybe Jinny is an archeologist."

"And she sent you a letter from here?" Paige asked.

"She said she was with a controlling man."

"And she had to write to an advice columnist in San Francisco about that?"

"It looks like a trap to me," Wyatt said.

"You know," Phoebe said, "that's just the sort of thing Chris would say."

"I don't really care what Chris would say."

"Okay," Paige said, "what are you two going on about?"

"Nothing," Wyatt said. "It's nothing important."

"Okay, well, if you're going to bicker about our former Whitelighter, can you do it at home?" She squatted to briefly inspect a pile of bones on the ground, then stood again. "Because I've kind of got to deal with Richard, and if nothing's really happening here--"

And a sword went sailing past her, just missing her head.

Phoebe whirled around and without missing a beat, hurled a potion at two demons at the mouth of the cave. They exploded in a burst of flame and ash, but that had barely dissipated when a dart of fire whizzed in, this time catching Paige on the shoulder, knocking her to the ground. The source of this attack was a demon on, of all things, a flying carpet, which sailed into the cave.

"Scaffolding!" Paige cried out from the ground, and a rickety wooden structure along the walls knocked into the carpet. The demon just barely kept his balance, but lost his grip on something in his hands -- a bottle, Wyatt discovered, as it rolled to his feet.

Phoebe's aim was off this time, not compensating for the unfamiliar movements of the carpet. The demon turned about and flew out of the cave, into the blazing sky. 

"Are you okay?" Phoebe asked, running over to Paige.

"Ow. Yeah, he just clipped me. Hey, what have you got there?"

Wyatt brushed the dirt off the pink, gilded bottle, revealing Arabic script and, more importantly, triggering a whirl of pink smoke from the neck of the bottle. It coalesced into the form of a woman, who looked eagerly at the three of them.

"Thank you for responding to my letter," she said.

"Wait, are you Jinny?" Phoebe asked.

She nodded vigorously, but turned away from Phoebe and gave her attention and bright smile to Wyatt. "At your service, master."

* * * *

Jinny had been re-bottled for the trip back to the Manor, but now she was out again, at Phoebe's insistence. Wyatt just as soon would have kept her contained, but Phoebe had her premonition: "We have to hear her out."

Meanwhile, Leo had been called to heal Paige. Jinny watched this briefly and then said to Wyatt, "I could heal her, master. Your warrior needs her strength. My last master will be coming back for me."

"Leo is doing the job just fine."

"Good idea, save your wishes."

Wyatt did not respond, but just sat studying her, idly turning the neck of the bottle in his fingers.

"Did you get a good look at the demon?" Leo asked.

"I did," Phoebe said, "and when we're done here I'll go up to the Book of Shadows and check it out. Wyatt and Paige can keep an eye on Jinny."

"There is no need to guard me. Even if I was not bound to serve my new master, I would do it anyway for sparing me from Bosk."

"Who's Bosk?" Wyatt asked.

"My last master. He's cruel, even for a demon. And I would know. My bottle has been passed around from demon to demon for centuries."

"That's terrible," Leo said.

"You cannot begin to know. That is why I got a message to Phoebe. I knew if she --" Jinny looked to Wyatt "-- or any of her friends had my bottle, they would help. And wish me free."

"No wishes," Phoebe said, and to emphasize her point, she shook a finger at Wyatt. "We know all about genies. They're tricksters. Don't make any wishes."

"Don't worry. I know all about genies, too. No wishes."

Jinny insisted, "But you need to use your wishes for Bosk. You cannot handle him. Nobody can. He has a flying carpet and an army of forty thieves."

"Thirty-eight," Phoebe said. "I vanquished two."

"Let me guess," Paige said. "He wanted a crew and a nice ride. Original for a demon's wish, yeah?"

"Yes. And if Bosk gets me back, he will force me to grant his third wish."

"What's his third wish?" Paige asked, then suddenly put her hands to her ears, where a pair of gaudy diamond earrings had appeared.

"Did you do that?" Phoebe asked Jinny.

"No, but they are lovely. Who conjured them for you?"

"My boyfriend, Richard. He's been showering me with gifts all week."

"I thought you were going to talk to him about binding his powers," Phoebe said.

"I have, but every time I bring it up I just get another present. Luxury problem I know, but still."

"Yeah, not good."

"Can we get back to the demon?" Wyatt asked.

"Hmm," Phoebe said. "Again, sounding just like your--"

He cut her off, speaking more loudly: "Back to the demon. What's his third wish going to be?"

"Zanbar," Jinny whispered.

Phoebe and Paige looked blank, but Wyatt said, "The lost city. I've heard of it."

"Well, we haven't," Paige said, "so spill."

Jinny answered, "Before being swallowed up by the desert, it was the seat of power for an evil empire."

"Damn him!" Paige exclaimed, but she wasn't talking about Bosk. A large diamond bracelet had materialized on her wrist.

"You know, Paige, if he won't listen to you, maybe he'll listen to his family," Phoebe said.

"Most of them are dead. Remember, the feud?"

Jinny broke in: "Please, we do not have time for this. If Bosk captures me, Zanbar will rise again from the dust."

"It's just a city," Paige said.

"A city of magic. Bosk has been using his thieves to search for its former site. If he finds it and wishes it back, there will be no stopping him." She turned to Wyatt. "That is why you must wish me free, master. If I am not a genie, it will solve your problems and mine. I beg you."

"You'd be surprised what we can handle," Wyatt said. "And before we--"

Paige yelped. Her casual clothes had turned into a black evening gown.

"Okay, I'm losing my mind," Phoebe said. "Paige, go to Richard, deal with it so you can help us." Slightly dazed, Paige nodded and orbed away. Phoebe, still in take-charge mode, turned next to Leo: "Can you go see if Piper can come home? We could use her help. She's at work." 

"Sure."

Watching him go, Wyatt said, "Actually, I was just about to ask Leo for his input."

"Well, he'll be back. Let's go find a vanquishing potion for that demon."

"Finding a vanquishing potion" also meant "while continuing our conversation," Wyatt knew. Phoebe tried, anyway, though he had to give her credit -- she danced around the issue, and remembered his pseudonym, in the presence of Jinny.

"So, tell me, Michael," Phoebe said as she began work on a potion. "What are the chances that you'd maybe think someone was evil and then they're actually not? What if you're wrong?"

"What if _you're_ wrong? What if someone you think is good is actually evil?"

"I'd say the best way to work out the question would be to talk about it out in the open. Get input from all interested parties."

Jinny was more absorbed in looking through the Book of Shadows than in this exchange. She suddenly spoke up, flipping to various pages. "Oh, he was my master once. And him, too. And her."

"Boy, you sure got around," Phoebe said. "How did so many demons get a hold of you, anyway?"

"Some bought, some stole. I changed hands so many times I lost track."

"I'm sorry we can't set you free. But wishing is just too risky right now."

Piper and Leo orbed in at that moment. "Okay, let's go. I've got to pick up Wyatt from day care in two hours."

"Leo can do that, can't he?" Phoebe said. "I think he ought to stick around, then maybe when this is all over, we can have dinner or something. Like a family. Have a good chat."

"Uh, about what?" Piper looked from Phoebe to Wyatt.

"Family stuff, apparently," Wyatt said. "Which means it doesn't concern me."

"Okay, uh, Leo? Can you--?"

"Sure, I can get Wyatt. Right now, though, I need to get back Up There. Can you handle this without me?"

Phoebe said, "Oh, Michael said he wanted to ask you something."

"I'm okay for the moment. You'll come if I call?"

"Of course," Leo said, and orbed out.

Piper said, "I take it you're the genie."

"Jinny," she responded.

"Jinny the genie," Phoebe said.

"Of course. Who's the demon?"

"Bosk," Wyatt said. "A low-level demon with minimal powers."

"I'm working on a vanquishing potion," Phoebe said.

"Good. So what you're planning is to summon him to us?"

"Yeah, that's what I was thinking."

"Okay. I'm going to call Dennis at the club and explain that I might not be back for the afternoon. I'd put the genie back in the bottle just to be safe. No offense, but we've been burned before."

Wyatt stood at the attic doorway and watched her walk down. He turned to the table in the middle of the room where he had set the bottle, picked it up and was about to order Jinny into it when, before he could open his mouth, Phoebe started in again.

"We've got to talk to her. And Leo." She sprinkled one last herb into the potion, which gave a puff of smoke that she waved from her face before meeting Wyatt's eyes. "Ever since I saw you and Chris in that vision--"

Wyatt had had it. If his mother had not been in the house, he would have exploded at Phoebe, but instead he hissed, "Ugh. I wish you would just shut up about that vision, Chris, _and_ me."

"Your wish is my command, master."

Both of them whipped their heads around to see Jinny, hands pressed together, smiling brightly at Wyatt. But their identical expressions of shock diverged, as satisfaction dawned on Wyatt's face while Phoebe gaped, seemingly unable to speak.


	13. Chapter 13

Wyatt wondered if the wish had rendered Phoebe totally silent, as she opened her mouth, then closed it, then did the same thing again. But finally, with some effort, she spluttered, "Take that back! Make another wish!"

"Ah ah, wishes are dangerous, you said so. That one was an accident, and look what happened." He held up the bottle to Jinny. "You heard Piper. Back in."

Jinny's tone turned chilly. "Yes, master." And she whirled into the bottle.

"You can finish up the potion," Wyatt said as Phoebe just stared at him. "I think I'll go down and see if Piper needs any help."

He found her in the kitchen, hanging up the phone.

"Phoebe's got the potion covered," he told her.

"And the genie?"

Wyatt set the bottle on a counter. "Put away for now."

"Good. Though I'm surprised you haven't tried to make a wish at all -- your job for Gideon could be over in an instant. You haven't been tempted?"

"If I was tempted by anything, it would be to get my full powers back. But I know better. Like you said -- been burned before."

"Oh really? Anything I need to be warned about?"

"You never find out about it and you never need to. It all worked out in the end."

"Oh, terrific," she said with a wry smile.

Definitely something she didn't need to learn about, since the whole incident had been a ploy to get around her rules. Mom could claim she was against "personal gain," but Wyatt knew it had to be more about her ever-unattainable "normal life" when she laid down the law that her sons' chores had to be done magic-free. Chris dutifully washed dishes, swept, mowed the lawn, whatever, all without a spell or a little telekinesis. But Wyatt, no way. Because he was only ten years old and not smart enough yet to find ways to fool her, of course Piper had found out. She devised a spell to detect if magic had been used in housework, which kept Wyatt in check -- with some yelling and foot-stomping -- for a while.

Then he found a genie bottle. (Or stole, as some might see it, but could you really steal from a demon?) And that day, he had been saddled with chores before he would be allowed to join some friends for an outing that seemed very important at the time, and so he used a wish to deal with it. The genie made the house disappear. Wyatt used up his next two wishes trying to undo it, without success. In desperation, he gave the bottle to Chris, who got everything back to normal on his first wish.

When his brother's pride over this achievement became unbearable, Wyatt told him, "So you're good at wishing. The only time in your life you're better at something than me -- don't get used to it."

It stung, as Wyatt had meant it to. And he wouldn't let Chris use up the next two wishes he was owed.

"What are you going to do with her?" Chris asked after he had ordered the genie back in the bottle.

"I'm going to get rid of it," Wyatt said, holding out his hand. "Drop the bottle into a volcano or something."

"Um. Genies aren't demons. I don't think you're supposed to vanquish them."

"Did you see what it did to our house? Is that something a 'good' magical creature would do?"

He got Chris to hand it over and extracted a promise to never, ever tell Mom and Dad about this. Wyatt destroyed the bottle, and that was the end of it. Except how, even after he had done his chores nonmagically, apparently the residual genie magic set off his mother's detection spell, and Wyatt got in trouble anyway. So did Chris, though, since it was all over the house.

The experience had stuck with him -- a genie bottle had crossed his path once or twice, but they never had the slightest temptation for him. His brother couldn't have learned that lesson, though. If Chris had been here instead and the bottle had landed in his hands ... Wyatt wondered what Chris might have wished for. A not-"evil" brother?

Wyatt's own wish, inflicted on Phoebe, had been a careless slip of using the "W" word. But he didn't see a downside. He certainly wasn't going to risk a second wish to reverse it, and Phoebe ought to be grateful for that: The genie could interpret the reversal wish so that she could never, ever stop talking. Even Phoebe couldn't want that.

Wyatt told Piper now as they walked into the sunroom, "There's something about this genie that doesn't sit right. The way she keeps insisting on us freeing her."

Piper shrugged. "The genie we met before was pretty obsessed with that. Isn't it kind of expected?"

"Yes, but they've usually got other tricks up their sleeve." He held up the bottle and turned it. "I want to know what this writing says, for starters. I'm thinking Leo could read it -- I'm going to have to call him back into this."

Without hesitation, Piper called out, "Leo!"

He orbed in immediately. "What's up?"

"Still working on the genie problem," Piper said. "Can you read Arabic?"

"Yes, why?"

"There's something on the bottle," Wyatt said. "I want to know what it says before we get too generous with the genie's freedom."

Leo took the bottle and turned it over in his hands. His expression told Wyatt he had been right to be suspicious, even before he heard Leo's translation.

"It says here that an ancient sorcerer condemned a demon into the bottle for not marrying him. It says whoever tried to free her, they'd have to switch places with her."

"And that's just how I don't want to spend my time, stuck in a bottle, granting people's idiotic wishes all my days," Wyatt said, taking the bottle back.

"So no wishing her free, obviously," Piper said. "What do we do now?"

Leo said, "We still have to worry about this Bosk. If he--"

A crash interrupted them as, with perfect timing, Bosk burst through the glass doors into the Manor, on his flying carpet, heading straight for Wyatt.

Gripping the neck of the bottle, Wyatt dove behind a sofa as Piper let loose her power. Bosk should have exploded, but instead only his carpet blew up, sending him tumbling to the ground. He jumped to his feet.

"Not this time, witch," he said, and as he puffed out his chest, Wyatt spotted the amulet, inlaid with a large red jewel, hanging around Bosk's neck.

Phoebe had run in, potion in hand.

"Wait!" Wyatt yelled to her. "Save it. It's not going to work." 

Phoebe got the message. She and Piper kept Bosk at bay as best they could, fighting him off while he threw his fire-darts. Wyatt spotted Leo heading toward him -- probably with the goal of orbing him to safety, but Wyatt shook his head to tell his father to hold off, and said aloud, "Genie, I command you to come out."

The pink smoke coalesced into Jinny, who dramatically gasped. "Bosk! Master, you must wish me free!"

"No. But you can help, no tricks." He pointed at Bosk. "Genie, I wish for that amulet."

Bosk had evaded Phoebe's kicks and Piper's ineffectual explosions and was trying for a clear shot at Wyatt when the amulet disappeared from his chest. As soon as Wyatt felt its weight around his own neck, he called out, "Phoebe! The potion, now!"

But it was too late: Bosk, now defenseless, shimmered out before the potion reached him. The vial dropped, unbroken, to the floor. Wyatt got to his feet, pulling the chain from around his neck and inspecting the amulet, as Phoebe rushed to retrieve her potion vial.

"What is that?" Piper asked.

"The Eye of … something or another. I don't remember, I remember what it does: blocks witches' magic." Wyatt put it in his pocket, which his parents did not react to, but he perceived a wave of disapproval coming from Phoebe. Really, right now, she was going to be unhappy with him no matter what he did.

"Master, I helped you, 'no tricks,' " Jinny said. "But Bosk will not stop. He will come again. You must--"

"Set you free? Do you think if you ask that enough times, I'll fall for it? More importantly, do you know that Leo can read Arabic?"

All trace of obsequiousness vanished from her face.

"Back in the bottle," Wyatt said, and Jinny obeyed.

"What was that about?" Phoebe said.

"We can't free her," Piper said. "Not unless you want your nephew to start a new job as a genie."

"No," Phoebe said slowly. "I don't want that. And I don't -- I think -- um..."

Both Piper and Leo looked slightly perplexed at Phoebe's groping for words.

She tried again: "A genie comes with three wishes. If -- a wish that --" Phoebe huffed in frustration. "I'd consider my last wish very carefully. If it were me."

"Right," Piper said. "But we're not making wishes of any kind. Aside from the one that just saved our butts, so thanks for that one."

"You're welcome," Wyatt said.

"One wish down, zero more to go," Piper said. "Got it?"

"No argument from me. But the genie's right. Bosk will be back. And I've got an idea to get ahead of him on this."

"What's that?" Leo asked.

"Find out where Zanbar is. I've met someone who may know. Meanwhile, you can work on setting up a trap here. I'll be back soon."

* * * *

"Zanbar?" Yvonne said. "Of course I know where it is. Back in the day, I excavated some truly rare treasures there."

Wyatt was back once again in her finely appointed lair, with an even more disgruntled Penka pouting in the back. For the sake of keeping him on a leash, Wyatt didn't want to alienate him too much, and using him as a taxi to the Underworld was bound to do that. But if this worked out with Yvonne, he could do without Penka's help altogether -- at least until he needed some demon mind-reading.

"You raised Zanbar?" Wyatt asked her.

"No, what would be the point of that? I never had any interest in ruling some city in the desert, no matter how evil it might be."

"Look, I know I'm bothering you again--"

"Yes, you are." Her bodyguard butler glowered at him to reinforce her icy words.

"I came to tell you that I have the means to give you a whole new lease on life."

"You didn't have the 'means' this morning."

"No, I didn't. But I do now. Or I will soon. Have a little patience. In the meantime, help me with this one little bit of information. After that -- you can join me in the search for that athame. Zanbar is the quid pro quo. The athame? That's just partnership. Don't tell me you wouldn't love to jump back into the game again."

* * * *

"The intervention was a complete train wreck," Paige said when she returned to the Manor. "I called together the whole family, ghosts and all. Richard wouldn't listen to anyone."

She had orbed into the living room, where she found Phoebe, who was alone, furiously typing away at her laptop, which sat on the coffee table in front of her. At Paige's appearance, Phoebe slammed her hands on the keyboard and flopped back on the sofa.

"Uh, sorry about interrupting," Paige said.

"No, it's not you," Phoebe said, and she seemed almost near tears. "I'm trying to write something and I can't -- I can't actually form the words."

 _Something to do with work then_ , Paige assumed. "You're just distracted by all this genie stuff. I'm sure it'll come to you soon, honey."

"I'm not sure of that at all." Phoebe leaned forward to shut the laptop, took a deep breath, and said more calmly, "I'm sorry about Richard. What are you going to do now?"

"At the moment, jump back into helping you with the genie problem. What's up?"

"Turns out the bottle had a warning label. Yeah, Leo translated it from Arabic: She's a demon. Anyone who frees her, gets to take her place. Fortunately, no one freed her before we found out. But Bosk showed up while you were gone."

"Is everyone all right?"

"It was touch and go there, and he got away, but no one was hurt and he didn't get the bottle. We've still got the potion I made to vanquish him, and Piper's upstairs right now working on a vanquishing spell for Jinny, in case we need it."

"Where's Wyatt?" Phoebe looked a little flummoxed at the question, so Paige added, "Either of them."

"I can't, uh ... I'll just let Piper answer that."

"That doesn't sound good."

"No, it's fine," Phoebe said, with that smile of hers that telegraphed she was hiding something. "Piper can just explain better, you know?"

"Explain what?" Piper had just walked in the room.

"Where either Wyatt is," Paige said. "Isn't it time for the little one to come home from day care?"

"Yes, Leo went to get him, and took him Up There -- again -- until we sort all this out. Meanwhile, his older self talked us into letting him go find out where Zanbar is. Someone he met through working for Gideon, I guess?"

"Well, where to find Zanbar would be helpful to know. And Jinny?"

"With Wyatt, in the bottle, in a backpack."

Paige chuckled. "A portable demon, that's handy."

They didn't have to wait for news much longer: They heard the front door open and Wyatt call out, "I'm back."

The moment he entered the room, Phoebe asked him, "Where's the bottle?"

"Hello to you, too, Phoebe. Yes, I still have the bottle. And I have a location for Zanbar."

The doorbell rang. Paige asked, "Do you see anyone coming up?"

"No," he said.

She sighed. "I'll get it. I've got a feeling I know who it is." 

Her feeling was correct. "Richard," she said as she opened the door.

"I, uh, came to apologize." He punctuated this with a giant bouquet of roses that appeared out of thin air.

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me."

"I'm not apologizing for using magic. I'm apologizing for storming out. I should have stayed and explained, to all of you."

"And this is how you apologize? Or explain? How is magicking up flowers supposed to make me feel better about you and your state of mind?" Paige took a deep breath. She had to do this. Get the words out there: "Richard, I can't live with this anymore. This relationship -- I don't think it's going to work."

"You're going to break up with me over some flowers?"

"Look, I'm sorry. It's me or magic. You just have to choose one."

"You can't give me that kind of choice."

"I just did."

"You trust complete strangers like him," Richard said, gesturing behind Paige, "but not me."

Paige turned and saw Wyatt some feet behind her, holding the bottle, a spectator to the argument. "Can we get a moment?" she asked him.

"Piper says we ought to head out," Wyatt said. "Remember, to Zanbar."

"Yeah, I know, can I just--"

Richard, ever more frustrated, said, "You want to talk about dependencies, why are you always running off to be with your sisters?"

Wyatt answered him: "Because she has to, you idiot. They could sit here and fend off Bosk over and over, or go get him where he is, before he raises an evil kingdom."

Paige didn't get a chance to tell Wyatt to stop helping. Instead, Bosk chose that moment to prove Wyatt's point. The demon didn't show up in person this time. Three sword-wielding minions like the ones they had confronted back at the desert cave -- these were the "thieves" Jinny had mentioned, Paige supposed -- shimmered in. One threw Wyatt across the room and he lost his grip on the bottle. It rolled across the floor toward Paige, but one of the thieves was bearing down on it -- and her.

"Sword!" she called out and her hands were suddenly around its hilt, just in time for the thief to impale himself on his own weapon and go up in flames. Paige whirled around to catch another one, which turned out to be remarkably easy: Piper had arrived and frozen the room. With the sword, Paige vanquished one, and Piper blew up the other.

Phoebe was trying to help Wyatt to his feet. He shook off her aid and said, "Richard."

The sisters followed his gaze, toward the door, where Richard stood -- the genie bottle now in his hands. He looked down at it, and then dematerialized in a blur of light and color.

Piper pointed where he had vanished. "Since when can he do that?"

"Yeah, he's just full of unpleasant surprises these days," Paige said. "Part of the whole corrupted-by-magic package."

"Well, I hope he can defend himself, because now Bosk's crowd will be after him."

"We've got to get that bottle back," Phoebe said.

"Yeah, I know that, Phoebe," Paige snapped. "I'm not especially happy with him getting an extra power source, either. I've got to make a power-stripping potion before he does anything really crazy."

"Okay," Piper said, "let's come at this from two directions. Paige is right, she has to deal with Richard. Wyatt, you stay and help her with the potion -- no arguments," she added, though, in truth, Wyatt didn't look like he was going to argue. "Phoebe and I will get Leo to take us to Zanbar and deal with Bosk."

* * * *

About an hour later, Paige was ready to go to Richard's, with Wyatt as backup. She orbed straight there -- Richard would complain, but this was an emergency. It was not a good sign that she found him in the black magic vault. And as she expected, the first thing he said when she and Wyatt showed up was, "Paige, I told you. Don't orb in and surprise me."

Jinny was standing nearby, outside the bottle and smirking. Paige ignored her and said to Richard, "This is for your own good."

She threw the power-stripping potion. Then she felt a blast of telekinesis that not only deflected the potion vial, but sent her out of the room and sliding across the marble floor.

Richard rushed over to Paige. "Are you okay?" he said. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to."

She let him help her up. "It's okay. It's fine."

"I'll make it up to you."

"No, Richard, just stop--"

"No, no, it's not for me. You don't understand. I've been talking to Jinny."

"You what?"

"At first I was trying to think of a wish to make you accept me the way I am, with magic. But she explained what's going on, and what I really need to do is show you that I can use magic for good, just like you. I can help you defeat Bosk."

"You don't need to. Piper and Phoebe are taking care of him as we speak, I promise."

"If we go help them, it will go that much faster. And if these demons can't get their hands on a genie bottle anymore, all the better. I don't need the wishes, I just need you to see that I don't need them. Jinny, I wish you--"

"Richard, no!"

"--free."

"Oh hell," Wyatt said as they watched a whirl of wind fly up from Jinny -- whose flimsy, spangled clothing transformed into a simple black blouse and trousers -- and landed on Richard.

"Uh, what is this?" Richard said.

The moment Jinny made a movement, Paige threw out a hand blindly and yelled, "Bottle!" She didn't even know where it came from, but it appeared in her hand all the same. Jinny produced a fireball, aiming it at Wyatt, who barely avoided it, dodging behind a pillar. 

Paige looked around wildly and spotted a pile of crystals on a shelf. "Crystals! Circle!"

She almost had her -- but not quite. Jinny shimmered out before she was caught in the trap.

"Do you think she's headed for Bosk?" Wyatt asked.

"If she is, and Piper and Phoebe vanquish her, then, Richard, you could be stuck for a very long time. By the way, congratulations, you freed a demon and became a genie."

"Your genie," Wyatt pointed out. "Got any wishes?"

"None that I'm going to say out loud. We've got to find some way to trap Jinny and force her back in the bottle. But we've got to save her first, so come on." She picked up the crystals. "Richard, into the bottle for now. We're going to Zanbar."

* * * *

They orbed into the middle of a battle that was winding up. Phoebe was hurling a potion that took out a lone thief, and it looked as though only Bosk himself was left, with Piper just about to blow him up -- before she got distracted by the arrival of Wyatt and Paige. Bosk saw them, too -- the bottle, in Paige's hand, coming right to his doorstep -- and he would have headed straight for them if he hadn't gone up screaming in flames before he got the chance. Jinny had shimmered in and taken her revenge.

Piper raised her hands, but Paige yelled out, "Piper! We need her alive!"

Jinny seemed pleased to hear this and moved forward -- but then stopped, her smug smile frozen, as well as the rest of her, by Piper's power. This time, Paige orbed the crystals around her and activated them with no trouble, as Wyatt explained to Piper and Phoebe, "Richard wished her free."

"What? Why?" Piper asked.

"He thought it would impress Paige."

"And now we've got to figure out how to get her to wish him free," Paige said.

"I've got an idea about that," Phoebe offered. "Any of those ghosts at the intervention still willing to help him?"

"Hey, good idea. One of them could possess Jinny long enough to wish Richard free." With one eye, Paige peered into the neck of the bottle. "What do you think, Richard? Who, at this point, would be most likely to want to help you?"

* * * *

Two days later, Richard was alone, puttering through the rooms of his empty family home, avoiding the room full of dark magic artifacts and potion ingredients. Even though he was powerless, it felt safer to stay away until his brother had cleared it, as he had promised to do.

Being turned into a genie, however temporarily -- that had snapped him back to his senses. There had also been the added humiliation of his dead father being called upon to rescue him from life in a bottle. For the second time that day, Paige had summoned his father's ghost, who had agreed to possess Jinny and wish Richard free. Jinny was captured in the bottle again, and Leo had carried it off to who-knew-where, wherever Elders destroyed or stashed away dangerous and enticing items. And Richard's father looked heavily disappointed and saddened by his son before vanishing off into the beyond. In a way, the ghostly intervention Paige had staged worked -- it had just taken a few hours. Richard asked for the power-stripping potion of his own accord.

And Paige ... she was out of his life. She had told him that it was magic or her, and now he had neither. His choice, and Paige hadn't argued. She understood why: "Well, you have to take care of yourself first, right?" she had said last night. "And as long as I'm around and bringing magic into your life, you won't be able to."

It was his choice, just as it was his choice to let go of his powers -- and he didn't say anything to her about how she had tried to do that against his will. He didn't know how he was going to move forward now, into a future with no magic -- but, hopefully, with none of the endless disasters that seemed to follow him. He knew that after he stole Jinny's bottle, Paige had switched to crisis mode, and that's why she had tried to hit him with the power-stripping potion. But he had the right to take that step into his new future himself, not be forced into it.

He had wandered his way in front of the locked room of magical stuff when he heard a voice behind him.

"Do you feel like you're missing a part of yourself?"

Richard started and whipped around. Strange -- it was Michael, that guy hanging around the sisters lately, for reasons Richard didn't really get.

"Man, you scared me. What are you doing here?"

"Checking in on you."

"Paige sent you?"

"No. But I heard you took that power-stripping potion. Is it true?"

"Yes. I can't fall off the wagon -- which means I don't need any surprise check-ins."

Michael pulled from his pocket a potion vial and held it up to the light, studying its color. "What if I have the means to reverse it -- restore your powers?"

Richard wondered if this was some kind of heavy-handed test. "No," he said. "I don't need that anymore."

"If you say so. But someone else does."

"Look, if someone needs magical help--"

"I didn't mean in that way." Michael raised his voice: "He's ready."

Richard didn't have time to form a question about that cryptic statement. He felt the heat of a shimmer as a demon appeared next to him and twisted his arms behind his back. It was strong and Richard's struggle against its grip did no good. He found himself pushed along, with Michael leading the way into the Montanas' living room. There, on the same red sofa where Paige had said her goodbyes the night before, was a wizened old woman, hunched over, seemingly barely able to stay upright.

"Are you sure about this?" said the demon holding Richard. "This could kill you."

The woman raised her head. "If it doesn't work, then kill them both." Her voice was weak, barely above a quavering whisper. "But I'm reaching the point where I don't have any choice."

"It will work," Michael said. "He's powerless. Possessing him in this state will be as easy as possessing a mortal -- except once you have control, this potion will reverse the one that stripped his powers. It's the perfect solution to your problem."

Now Richard began to struggle wildly, but his futile effort did not last long. There was a whoosh, and suddenly he was buried, deep down inside himself, buried with the dirt being stamped on top. And where the old woman had been slumped, there was now just a pile of ashes.

"Yvonne?" Michael asked.

"Richard. That was Yvonne." He indicated the ashes with a nod and then rolled his shoulders and neck, settling in, feeling the suppleness of the new body's youth. "I've always found it much easier to suppress the original spirit if you take the person's name. Take their identity and shove them out of their life."

Michael looked at him curiously. "Is he fighting you?"

"Of course. But he's weak. It's not just that he has no magical powers. He's been fighting a psychological battle for weeks, months, years, and it's worn him out. I doubt he'll be able to tap into the powers once they've been restored. It doesn't matter though. Without them, he'll burn up like any mortal would. So give me the potion."

Michael handed over the vial, and Richard downed it. He closed his eyes and waited a moment, feeling the power suffuse every cell. Then he opened his eyes and focused on a conjuration -- a simple thing. Flowers.

Nothing happened. 

"Don't try to start too big," Michael said in response to the glare Richard now directed at him.

"This witch had active powers -- telekinesis, conjuring. Even teleportation, though that was new."

"And he will again. When I give you a second potion."

"Excuse me?" Richard said, while behind him Bolek took a threatening step forward toward Michael.

"Try out any basic powers -- spell casting, potion making -- you should be able to do those. More importantly, that body has enough magic to sustain your possession."

"Look, I've done this before, and basic powers won't cut it for long."

"But long enough. I can make a second potion that will finish the job. You'll have all his active powers. But in the meantime--"

"In the meantime, you're going to hold it over my head until I help you."

"Why would you expect any different? I'm a witch, you're a demon. We're not supposed to trust each other. Now, to archeology -- we've got an athame to find. Let's get started."


	14. Chapter 14

Chris skirted along a narrow ledge behind Caza, who had chosen a precarious rocky alcove to shimmer into the Underworld for their search-and-capture operation.

"Why exactly was this a good idea?" he asked as he carefully placed his steps to avoid slipping into the abyss below. Even if he could just orb himself to safety, why get into that position to begin with?

She didn't immediately answer him, instead concentrating on maneuvering her way around a tricky outcropping, around a bend and out of sight. When Chris made it past the obstacle himself, she was a few feet ahead, lightly jumping a gap to wider, more solid ground.

"We're doing this," she said as Chris joined her, "because I know my way around, I know the best places to arrive undetected. And on our stroll, I can pick up useful information."

"Do you plan to share any of that information with me?"

"No." She then amended herself: "If there's a fireball aimed at your head, I might warn you. Might."

"Oh, thanks."

"Your brother might object to you being incinerated. Not until he interrogates you on whatever you've been doing and wherever you've been."

"Actually, he knows where I've been. He didn't tell you at all? Or Cole?"

"No," Caza said, her tone indicating how little she cared. "I knew Wyatt had captured Bianca and was interrogating her on your whereabouts and plans. But he told us that he would deal with her alone, no help, no witnesses. So he did."

Chris tried very hard not to let his imagination run to horrible places with that statement.

Caza continued, "At some point, he trusted Bianca enough to let her loose to find you. Seemed foolhardy to me, but it wasn't my call. And since you're here but she's not, I'm not sure how that all worked out. Is she dead?"

"Yes."

"I'm not surprised. No way her defection back to our side was permanent, and I doubt Wyatt ever completely bought it. She was on borrowed time either way."

They moved along through cave-like corridors that to the untrained eye looked endlessly identical. Chris, however, had a fair idea of where they were — both in this time and in the past, he had spent more time in the Underworld than any witch ought to. As for Caza, of course, this would be her natural home, no matter that Wyatt had ensconced her, along with so many of his demon hoard, high above the city.

Once in a while, Caza would pause, paying close attention to something only she could perceive, before picking up the pace again. When she caught him watching her at this, she smirked.

"Oh, that's right, you're used to relying on Mero powers, aren't you? How's Penka doing these days?" When Chris didn't respond, she said, "Don't play dumb, we both know he's been working with you, helping out in your little resistance."

"I'm not playing dumb. I just don't believe you really care how he is."

"Oh, I'm hurt," she said with a fake pout. "You think family doesn't matter to me? Even if that family is as disgraceful as him?"

Chris started walking again, letting her follow this time. "I guess you and I are in the same boat," he said. "Both of us with a brother picking the wrong side — a witch who's evil, a demon who's good."

"Penka, 'good'?" she snorted. "He's just a coward. The way I see it, Wyatt and I are in the same boat, both of us with a brother who's weak and just plain an embarrassment."

Chris believed that was how Wyatt saw him, but it wasn't something he needed to hear echoed by this demon. But one thing that would look weak would be to let her see how she had hit home, so he affected an attitude of indifference. He had had months of practice in the past hiding feelings, after all. All he said was, "Like I said, you don't care about Penka. Anyway, I have no idea how he is. I'm way out of the loop. I've been gone, remember?"

"Yes, you have. And now you're back and your brother is gone. What a weird coincidence."

Chris shrugged. "I don't see why it's weird. He's done that all his life -- drop out of sight for a day or so. I'm sure he'll reappear anytime now."

"Then why do you seem more worried about his absence?"

"I'm not worried, why would I be?"

"Beats me. But you don't hide it very well."

Now Chris found himself in the odd position of wanting to defend himself as a good liar, but he let her continue.

"I just wonder if you being worried is a good thing, or something I need to worry about, too."

She suddenly halted and grabbed Chris's upper arm, yanking him back.

"Ow!"

"Shut up," she hissed. "We've found them." She jerked her head toward a recess in the wall that lined the path ahead of them. "There's a chamber off to the right there. Let's see ... there are demon guards, run-of-the-mill types — they're forming a perimeter, and their thoughts are broadcasting just how excited they are about the coming destruction."

"Are we underneath the Pyramid?" As well as Chris knew the Underworld, his knowledge of how it might correspond with the world above, if at all, was sketchy.

"Not really."

"Isn't that where we need to go to find Andras?"

"No. He's in there." She let out a frustrated breath. "I can't catch his mind. Everyone around him, their minds are all directed to him, but we can't just shimmer right to him without seeing him."

"How many guards?"

"Seven, eight. It's doable, if you can manage your end of it. You get the crystals around him the second we're next to him, that's all."

"That's all."

"Don't screw it up."

* * * *

Cole guessed that Chris had muttered the spell to take down the Manor's shield while he was fetching crystals in the detritus of the attic. In any case, when Cole put on his own little show of deactivating the shield, to keep Caza believing it was he, not Chris, who controlled it, the two were able to shimmer out, Caza with a grip on Chris's arm that looked painful.

Now Cole had to wait, in the unshielded Manor — even if Chris would have been able to reset the protection before Caza took him away, which Cole doubted, all three of them had agreed to leave it down so there would be no impediment to bringing Andras in. Cole restlessly wandered the house, looking at exhibits, puzzling how Wyatt had got these outfits anyway — most of them had been magically created and then magically uncreated. The museum pieces had to be reproductions. Obviously, the reclining mermaid meant to represent Phoebe was, anyway. You can't just save a fish tail in a closet. He touched it. It gave slightly under his fingers, and was indeed made of some kind of synthetic material. Silicone? It was too smooth, not nearly scaly enough.

He decided it might be useful to scour the attic for ... what? Something to hand over to a resistance that barely existed anymore? He went up there anyway. It was something to do. The crystals were still in a semicircle around the wall; the wall was just a wall. Wyatt had not come home. Cole half-wished he would; though he was loath to admit Caza might be right, Wyatt probably could vanquish Andras without much trouble. And he was expert at getting information out of the unwilling.

In a reconnaissance of the second floor, Cole poked his head in the bedrooms, including -- it was so strange to think of it -- one that had been his own, with Phoebe, long ago. And he recalled that Chris had once told him that as a child, Wyatt had let Chris in on a secret: hidden objects stolen from the Elders under a floorboard in Wyatt's bedroom. An intriguing idea, to imagine Elder artifacts might still be there, forgotten -- but probably not. In any case, Cole didn't know which bedroom, let alone which floorboard. He moved on.

He returned downstairs and walked past the foyer, the open space they had chosen and cleared in preparation for holding Andras, and tried to relax in the living room. He was failing at this when he heard a noise coming from the kitchen. What had been a bit of play-acting to bring Chris out in the open while Caza was there was now happening for real: There was an intruder, and with the shield barely down for twenty minutes.

When Cole shimmered into the kitchen, the woman he found there shrieked. She wore the uniform of a museum guide and seemed to be hyperventilating.

"The museum is closed today," he told her.

"I ... I know that now, sir," she stammered. "I just ... this was my shift, and I walked in ... and no one was here, so I was looking for guards, or someone ... I didn't realize it was closed."

"Now you do," Cole growled. "Get out."

The guide scurried out as fast as her high heels would let her. In her haste, she almost stumbled down the stairs leading from the porch, and she kept up that brisk pace down the street and out of sight.

And good thing, too. As Cole turned away from the door, Caza shimmered into the foyer: This time, instead of gripping Chris, she had in tow a black-clad figure that had to be Andras. Barely a second later, there was Chris, in a crouch, orbing in not only himself, but a circle of crystals. Caza let go and stumbled back, just in time to be out of the crystal cage that sprung up and trapped Andras.

"Get the shield back up!" Caza ordered.

Cole stepped out the front door and pretended to do so, assuming that Chris was actually doing the deed. When he turned around, the smallest of nods from Chris told him that the Manor was protected once more.

"I'm impressed," Cole said, walking around the cage holding Andras.

"No thanks to her," Chris said. "I thought she'd never give me the space to do anything."

"I'm surprised she let you orb back here."

"I didn't see any other way to get it done," Caza said. "Don't expect it to happen again."

She stepped in front of Andras. "We already know what you're up to. Your henchmen can't keep their mouths or their minds shut."

"Then you don't need anything from me, do you?" said Andras, who gingerly moved a hand forward, and yanked it back when he hit the shock of the crystal cage.

"What we need to know," Cole said, "is if you managed to set your little plan in motion before we caught you, and if you did, how do we stop it?"

Caza was standing as close as she could without entering the crystals' circle. She stared down Andras for a moment, then said, "Damn it. I'm getting nothing."

"Isn't he a demon?" Cole said.

"That's what the Book said he was," Chris said.

"Maybe it's the crystals," Andras said, smirking. "Take the cage down."

"Don't even try," Caza scoffed. "I've read minds through crystals plenty of times. I've also dealt with demons who think they can block me. One way or another, I always get through."

* * * *

To Chris, "one way or another" seemed to be taking a long time. He had been dispatched to the sunroom to work on a vanquishing spell that didn't require the Power of Three. He wrote a small pile of them while Caza — with Cole's assistance — tried to break down Andras's mental defenses. Chris supposed he could try one spell after another on Andras until one worked, but he doubted any of them would. He wondered if a fireball from Cole would do the trick. How about a fireball released at the same time as the spell or a potion? Combining powers had some merit.

Chris wandered back into the foyer to run that idea past Cole. He found him nonchalantly leaning against the bannister while Caza paced, pausing to look at Andras, who was a little singed but still standing, though probably only because, caught in the cage, he had no choice.

"Any luck?" Chris asked. When Caza scowled at him, he added, "We're kind of running out of time here."

Just then, Caza stopped dead in her tracks, and lifted her head like a dog that had caught the scent of a rabbit. But she wasn't looking at Andras. She was looking at the door, with the slightest of smiles playing on her lips.

"Oh, this is rich ..." she said, then walked to a window and looked out before announcing brightly, "Hey, we've got company."

Chris hung back as Cole went to look. Cole's response: "Oh, hell."

"For all that it's closed, this museum is getting a lot of traffic today," Caza said. "Let him in, Cole."

"What? Why?"

Caza smiled. "Family togetherness?"

_Family?_ Chris thought and then it dawned on him: _Oh, no no no. Go away, Penka._

Caza said, "He seems to really want the attention of someone in here. I want to know why. He can't hurt us. Maybe he could even help. Not likely, but you never know. Bring him in."

"Go get him yourself," Cole said.

"Oh, but I need you to open this place. And if I step out there, the minute he sees me, he'll run away."

"And he won't when he sees me?"

"You're not me. I doubt he would even recognize you."

Chris didn't like this. She sounded way too reasonable about it. But Cole walked out and one more time Chris had to temporarily let down the Manor's defenses. He walked into the sitting room — casually, he hoped — to look out the window, and work the spell out of Caza's earshot. He rubbed his temple as he watched Cole outside roughly drag a confused-looking Penka up the stairs. Twenty-four hours ago, he had been at work in the past, focused on a goal, and now he was nothing but a magical doorman, with a house full of demons of one sort or another. Sighing, he returned to the foyer just as Cole and Penka came in.

Penka immediately tried to back out when he caught sight of his sister, who just looked amused. But Cole had already closed the door behind them, and Penka probably knew that he wouldn't make it out of the yard.

"Well, this is just great," Penka said huffily, taking in the odd scene in the foyer, with Andras caged in the middle, looking both worse for wear and contemptuous at this new turn of events.

"What brings you here?" Caza asked. "The museum's closed."

"Yeah, I ... I just ..." He took a side glance at Chris and seemed to be studiously avoiding looking at Cole. "I found out something, and I wanted to warn ... um ... Wyatt."

"Wyatt."

"Yeah, Wyatt." Penka's voice took on more confidence as he warmed to the lie. "He's the one who gets things done in this city, right? Well, it's a pretty big threat to the city that I learned about. I live here, too. I'm a constituent. He ought to do something about it."

"Let me guess," Cole said. "A giant sinkhole swallowing up the Pyramid and most of downtown?"

"Um, I don't know about the Pyramid specifically, but--"

Caza pointed to their prisoner. "We already know. We've even caught the culprit. Way ahead of you, as usual."

"Oh, thanks for that. See if I try to help again. I'll go then."

"No, I don't think so," his sister said.

She closed in on him with an unpleasant smile, and Penka nearly fell into the mermaid's lap as he backed away.

"With all the secrets bouncing around in your head, all your unsavory associations, I know you're probably glad that Mero demons can't read their own kind. Unless!" She tapped a finger to her temple. "Unless they're really, really good. Like me. And, Penka, you're such an easy mark. I _knew_ it!"

She turned her back on him and Penka sidled out of her orbit.

"Turner," she said with a gloating smile. "You are so busted."


	15. Chapter 15

Wyatt inspected potion ingredients while Richard -- or the demon formerly known as Yvonne -- stood by with barely concealed impatience. Potion-making was evidently of no interest to Richard, and this hadn't been the point of their trip to the Demonic Market. But Wyatt was on the hunt for the more rare ingredients for his potion, the kind you couldn't buy in more respectable (read, "good") establishments. As they had passed this stall, he had spotted something that might suit his purposes.

He uncorked the jar and sniffed it, and a protective vendor appeared -- literally -- at his side, shimmering in and asking pointedly, "May I help you?"

Wyatt held up the jar, showing its handwritten label. " 'Hair cut from a vanquished witch.' What's your guarantee that this isn't actually 'hair swept up from the floor of a barbershop'?"

The demon pointed to the weathered, creaky wooden sign that loomed over her wares. "Your guarantee is the fact I've been here eighty-two years and I'm not vanquished myself, which I would have been, long ago, if I sold counterfeit products."

Richard said, "You can come back and vanquish her yourself if you find out she's lying. Just buy the thing or don't. This isn't what we're here for."

Seeing the merits of this argument, Wyatt, after some haggling, forked over the cash (the vendor took all forms of currency, including dollars from the human world) and walked away with a little envelope with three strands of hair. It was three times as much as he would need for the potion, but it was safer to have spares, in case something went wrong. He tucked the envelope into an inner pocket of his jacket -- no longer one of Leo's hand-me-downs. It was a worn-in, dark gray find from the same thrift store where Wyatt had bought that hot plate for potion-making. A sturdy cotton twill, the jacket was hardly fashionable, but its chief virtue was its pockets, places to stash away potions, weapons, and even that stupid phone.

Where they were headed was the very weapons dealer that had directed Wyatt to Yvonne in the first place. When Richard had brought him up as a potential starting point for the athame hunt, Wyatt had admitted that he had, in fact, vanquished that demon.

"He demanded a finder's fee just for giving me your name," Wyatt said at Richard's glare. "And he would have killed me if I had turned my back on him without paying. So I beat him to it."

Richard shook his head. "Unfortunately, that sounds just like him. Idiot. Let's go and see who's minding the store now."

They found the expansive stall looking singed, the tables and cabinets bearing the marks of being caught in a crossfire.

Richard pointed to the charred edge of a display case and said, "The demon version of probate."

"I think I'd rather deal with that than lawyers."

"You speak from experience?"

"Yes, when I was a teenager, no less." In the end, the lawyers hadn't mattered. Chris and the cousins could cling to the wills if they wanted; Wyatt had sorted out his inheritance for himself.

So had, apparently, the new proprietor of this weapons stall. He appeared middle-aged (to use a human term) and had less of the used-car salesman aura of his predecessor. Claiming a tall chair that overlooked his spread of wares, he was solid and stone-faced, keeping a sharp eye on Wyatt, Richard and a few others who browsed the displays.

Richard concentrated his attention on the locked cabinets that held the rarest and oldest objects. Wyatt wondered if his attention was entirely on the task at hand. Recently freed from long seclusion, Richard was going to be professionally interested in most everything in those cabinets, a wide world of curiosities to grab his interest. But when Richard suddenly bent over to make a close study of a display case, Wyatt walked over and found him inspecting a line-up of athames, some tarnished, some even rusty, all under a particularly imposing lock.

"Any luck?" Wyatt asked.

"Oh, yes, of course, I've found your athame, sitting here for all the world to see."

Wyatt didn't rise to the bait. "No, you didn't. So what's in this case?"

"Look at this one." Richard pointed to an athame that someone had evidently made some attempt to polish, but inexpertly -- spots of tarnish still remained, and a little rust even touched the edges of its straight guard and its blade. "There are interesting similarities."

To Wyatt's eye, you could say that about most of the athames in the case. It was a magical knife of a fairly standard design -- if anything, that rusty guard's shape was notably different from Gideon's athame. "Okay," he said, "how does it stand out from any of the others?"

Richard threw Wyatt a glance that communicated just how much smarter he believed himself to be, before returning to the rusty athame. "It's in the curves of the blade. It's a subtle thing." He straightened up. "We need it."

"Why do we need an athame that's not the one we're looking for?"

Richard didn't answer, but walked over to the proprietor. "I may want to buy one of your athames -- if you can tell me everything you know about where it came from."

"Which?" the demon grunted, and with apparent reluctance, slid off his perch and followed Richard to the display.

Drawn by the action, another browsing customer tried to get a look as well. Its eyes flashed red with interest, preparing to horn in on the negotiations if others had found something precious, but Wyatt stepped in to block its way. It slunk back, grumbling to itself, and resumed its perusal of some cheaply made swords.

"Most items were acquired by my predecessor, so I'm not going to have any stories to tell."

"Don't you have records?" Richard asked.

"Most customers don't care, as long as the weapon is shiny and lethal."

"Well, this" -- Richard stabbed a finger at the glass above the athame -- "is hardly shiny. Yet it's under lock and key. Why?"

"Ah, you noticed that one." The proprietor nodded. "That actually is my acquisition. A warlock sold it to me a few days ago – captured it from some witch, but he thought it was worthless."

"And it's not?"

"What do you think? I don't know its history, but I know antiquity when I see it. Something has lasted that long, and has only now popped up in circulation? There's got to be power under that rust. Just waiting for the discriminating buyer to take it home and discover its potential."

Richard snorted. "Flattery will not earn you any bargaining points. I'd rather take it home, but I can find out what it is either way. Do you know the name Yvonne?"

"Yeah. I heard she was dead."

"You heard wrong. I'm not dead. And I don't need to be flattered."

It struck Wyatt that maybe, when he got back to his own time, he needed to get Yvonne/Richard/whoever on his team. He appreciated confidence and competence -- why else would he put up with two lieutenants as disrespectful as Caza and Cole often were? Even if occasionally he had to make them understand they had pushed too far, for the most part, they could say what they liked, even to his face (and irritate him with the bickering between them), as long as their talents were subordinate to his will.

The proprietor was also impressed by Richard, as well as immediately looking for the advantage. "If you're telling the truth," he said, "then you must have quite a store of valuables to trade. What is this athame worth to you?"

Richard looked at Wyatt. "What's it worth to you?"

"Not much. You say you can research without having that thing in hand -- do that. It's not what we're looking for."

"What are you looking for?" the proprietor asked.

Richard pulled out the folded paper with Wyatt's reproduction of the athame illustration, but did not hand it over. Holding it up between a thumb and two fingers, he addressed Wyatt: "What's it worth to you? You've employed me. I can do this, but I can't work without an expense account. Or you could just walk around this market, shoving the drawing in the face of everyone you see, which may get you some clues, but more likely would get you a whole lot more competition in the search." He begin to unfold the paper. "'Oh! Someone wants that magical thing. I want it, too!'"

Wyatt snatched the paper from Richard before the proprietor, by now very curious, could see the drawing. Addressing the vendor, Wyatt said, "What's your price?"

"Well, maybe it just went up. But it's not the kind of thing I'd accept money for. I want something comparably powerful."

A potential trade came immediately to mind, but Wyatt was not exactly happy to part with it. In his future, he could have used Bosk's amulet. He could, of course, defend himself against witches, but being immune to their powers would spare him experiences like that moment in the attic when Bianca had plunged her hand into his back and fleetingly arrested his powers. Yes, he had fought her off, but it had been an excruciating experience he wouldn't want to repeat.

He begrudgingly dug the amulet out of a pocket of his jacket. "I've got something more powerful. If I'm giving it up, I want more than just a rusty old athame."

"An ugly necklace. So what?"

"It renders the wearer immune to witches' magic."

Richard was studying it curiously. "The Eye of Aghbar. Nice. Where did you get that?"

"The short version is that it doesn't render the wearer immune to genies, and I wished for it."

This seemed far more of interest to the proprietor. "You have a genie bottle? Now that might be worth a trade."

"I'd gladly trade it away if I still had it, but I don't."

The proprietor looked disappointed but not surprised. "I've never met anyone, demon, witch or warlock, who's been able to keep hold of one for long."

Wyatt held up the amulet, this time making no attempt at concealment, and he successfully drew the attention of that skulking demon customer, while some passersby slowed down to get a look. "I won't drive a hard bargain," Wyatt told the proprietor. "I could ask for half a dozen weapons in exchange for this, and you'd get a good deal. But all I want is that athame and the location of the warlock who sold it to you."

Not too long after, Wyatt and Richard walked out with the rusty athame, the warlock's name and haunts, as well as couple other antiques that had caught Richard's attention and had been thrown into the bargain. "It's my payment," Richard told Wyatt. The proprietor, meanwhile, had been left behind with three potential buyers arguing with each other over the Eye of Aghbar. He had already had to threaten them with a fireball to keep them at bay until he could demand the very highest price. Everyone was happy.

Wyatt would have been willing to let Richard deal with the warlock on his own. But Richard wasn't having it -- not unless Wyatt was willing to restore the old Richard's full powers.

"You've left me practically defenseless."

"I have no active powers myself. Why do you want me along?"

"Strength in numbers. And don't tell me you don't have tricks up your sleeve that I don't know about. You're coming."

The warlock was a brainless thug named Brent, who was less interested in discussing the finer points of demon archeology than he was in crowing about his recent acquisition.

"Look at this," he said, swinging a sparkling-new sword through the air, striking poses, oblivious to Wyatt's and Richard's indifference. To Wyatt, whose collection included Excalibur, Brent's sword looked chintzy. A swing at any armored demon would probably snap it in two.

But Brent didn't see it that way. "I can't believe that dumbass dealer traded it for the worthless junk I gave him. I just sold him a line about it was antique or something, and he swallowed it whole. A rusty old athame for this beaut."

He ended his awkward swinging with the sword pointed at Wyatt, who didn't flinch. In fact, he barely restrained himself from rolling his eyes.

Brent went on, "So he sent you to me, huh? Tell him he can't have it back."

"He doesn't want it back," Richard said. "We don't want it either -- it's impressive, though," he added when Brent seemed ready to take offense.

"So what do you want?"

"We want to know where you got the rusty athame."

"Um, who cares?"

Richard seemed to think -- and Wyatt agreed -- that it was best not to burst Brent's bubble about his excellent trading skills.

"Normally, I wouldn't," Richard said. "There's just this ... witch I know who used to have something like that athame. Let's just say we have a bone to pick with her."

Brent laughed. "You're in luck, then. I killed that witch."

"The one who had the athame?"

"Oh yeah. Went all the way to Greece to get her. Couldn't understand a word she said."

"Oh, right," Richard said. "That would be her. Wish I could have taken care of her myself, but what's done is done."

"Why did you go all the way to Greece?" Wyatt asked. "There's got to be plenty of witch-killing action in California."

Brent made an annoyed face. "This guy hired me to get the athame. But when I brought it to him, he said it was the wrong one and wouldn't give me any money. So I took it, and made my own deal." He admired his sword again.

"Did you tell him you killed the witch?"

"Uh, no, he wasn't the type to go for that sort of thing, you know?"

"Yes, I know," Wyatt said.

So Gideon had already bungled in this search for the athame before he had brought "Michael" on board?

"I know all I need to know," Wyatt said to Richard. "What about you?"

Richard nodded, and told Brent, "Thank you for taking care of that witch. Enjoy your sword. It really is an amazing piece of work." When they left Brent behind and were out of his earshot, Richard added, "More like an amazing snow job. He'll be dead the first time he tries to use that thing in a fight."

"Do you expect me to go with you to Greece now?"

"What, on a plane? No, I'll have Bolek shimmer me there. Dealing with idiot warlocks is one thing. World travel and research? That's the kind of thing I've been dying to get back to, and I don't need you tagging along."

* * * *

While Richard went off world-traveling, Wyatt could set Gideon's job aside to get to work on his potion in the little room set aside for him at Magic School. With his purchase at the market, he now had almost everything he needed -- all but that one extremely difficult ingredient. Even if he had that, it would still be at least ten days of brewing it up, here in the Elders' realm, for the quantity and quality he needed.

After that, though, he wouldn't care if the athame had been found, or if Richard got his full powers restored. Wyatt could head back to his own time, well-supplied, and leave Gideon's problems, and the past itself, to sort themselves out.

Wyatt reminded himself of this, because another part of him was caught up in the quest for that athame. Certainly not for Gideon's sake. But ever since Wyatt had stolen it from the Elders as a child, he had felt strongly connected to it -- all it might be capable of, and all the stories it might mutely hold. It was not rational, but Wyatt wanted to find that athame. He would give it to Gideon -- otherwise, it wouldn't be in the Elders' possession Up There where little Wyatt could discover it when he was thirteen. It was not about helping Gideon; it was about making sure that discovery still happened. The athame would be in Wyatt's cabinet in the Pyramid, safely waiting for him when he returned to his time, and he would know its story just a little bit better.

"Michael."

Wyatt jumped and whipped around to see Gideon at the door. Privacy had always been impossibility in Magic School, with its headmaster's power of invisibility.

"Gideon. What do you want?"

Gideon raised his eyebrows at the rudeness. "To inquire after your progress. But you seem busy with other activities."

It was always an effort to be polite to Gideon, but at least this time Wyatt had justifiable cause to show annoyance.

"I told you I have my own projects. But the search for the athame might see more progress if you don't withhold information. Such as anyone else you might have turned to for help."

Wyatt did not expect to see a fleeting look of ... was it panic? If Gideon could suppress that emotion almost immediately, he could not make the color return to his face so quickly. Was there more going on here than employing a sword-obsessed warlock? As Gideon tried to gather himself, pretending to look over the spread of potion ingredients, Wyatt pushed the point.

"I met a warlock complaining about how he didn't get paid when he hunted down and tried to turned over a similar, but wrong, athame."

There it was: a look of relief. Gideon was hiding something else, something worse than a brief partnership with a warlock. But what?

Gideon folded his hands in front of him, attempting to recover his aura of calm dignity. "I made an error. Joined forces with someone I should not have. I realize that now."

"Forget that he's a warlock -- he's completely incompetent."

"Yes."

"Beggars can't be choosers, huh?"

"Indeed. I should have waited until I could enlist the help of someone like you. But I had no idea I would be so fortunate."

"I appreciate your confidence -- I'd appreciate your trust more. I take it the athame the warlock found is worthless?"

"Yes. Despite its superficial similarity, it is of no use in our search."

Wyatt would let Richard be the judge of that, but to Gideon he said, "And if you had told me about it, I wouldn't have wasted my time on that dead end. Is there anything else I should know?"

Gideon did not immediately answer, and Wyatt thought he might be considering what confidences to share, how far to trust, when ... no. All Gideon did was shake his head and say, "Of course not."

"Of course not."

In implicit dismissal, Wyatt turned back to his potion, picking up yarrow root bagged in a cloth with a crudely threaded drawstring. He had just unwrapped the ingredient when distressed voices reached into the room from somewhere out in the halls. They both hustled out of the room to see what the commotion was, but Wyatt beat Gideon to the scene -- he broke into a run once he saw down the hall Paige and his mother, hovering over a collapsed, bleeding Leo.


	16. Chapter 16

Wyatt was still clutching the cloth that had held the yarrow root, and dropping to his knees, he clamped it to Leo's wounded shoulder.

Paige put her hand on Wyatt's. "We're here for Gideon. You can't heal him."

"Oh, right." Wyatt stood and stepped away as Gideon moved in. Watching the Elder heal the wound magically, it occurred to Wyatt that Paige might have thought he had been trying to do the same. But he hadn't been able to summon that power since ... he couldn't even remember. A long time. Long enough that applying pressure to a wound was now his immediate instinct. "What happened?" he asked.

Leo, now fully healed, shared a glance with Piper before saying, "It's a long story. I got hit by a Darklighter's arrow. And Piper needs healing, too."

Gideon made a move toward her, but Leo was already at work, golden light from his hand directed at an improvised bandage on Piper's upper arm.

"And where is Phoebe?" Gideon asked Piper and Paige.

"Nothing's happened to her," Paige said. "I mean, not since falling from a rooftop yesterday, but-"

"She _what_?" Piper exclaimed.

"She's fine, she's fine. I mean, still sore, but she convinced the ER doctor to let her go." Directing her attention to Gideon, Paige added: "I guess we should have asked you to heal her bruises when we came to see you."

"Yes. About that, I am glad to see you got your sister and Leo back. But now, Leo, I must discuss this matter with you alone. If you'll pardon us."

Leo cast another look at Piper, before following Gideon out in a stream of orb lights, leaving Wyatt alone in the hallway with his mother and aunt. He looked down at the cloth in his hands, now stained with his father's blood, and balled it up in a fist.

Piper sighed. "Well, happy birthday."

Wyatt looked around, making sure no eavesdroppers were nearby. They were still alone, but he wasn't going to take the risk. "What birthday?"

She took the hint. "Yesterday was my son's birthday. We had a party. You should have come."

"You were invited," Paige noted.

"I've been busy. I hope he had a good time."

"Oh, I think so," Piper said. "Before Darklighters started chasing after us and his parents got caught in an alternate dimension."

"You'd better go see him, then," Wyatt said. "I've got work I've got to get back to."

And he walked back to his room, closing the door behind him. He didn't want to be rude to her, but time was of the essence. A miraculous chance had just come to him, the answer to a thorny problem, and all it had taken was a fleeting moment of concern for someone else. Even as he reacted to seeing his father injured, Wyatt might have unconsciously recognized the opportunity. He needed the blood of a Whitelighter, and there on the floor, bleeding, was a Whitelighter -- Elder, just as good, better.

Even in his own time, when he had his full powers, his own blood wouldn't work. He had known it wouldn't, but he had tried anyway, and failed. What had saved this potion experiment was using Chris as a guinea pig -- this was back when he could still talk the kid into most anything. Chris's abilities as a Whitelighter were limited, but the potential was what counted. So Wyatt made up some story about how their combined powers might make a super-potion, enough to make up for the Power of Three that had been broken with their mother's death four months before. Wyatt let the implication hang there: Maybe this would help track down and vanquish her killer. Chris let Wyatt take blood willingly. Then all Wyatt had to do was tell him a few weeks later that the idea hadn't worked out.

But it had worked out; Chris just never knew, or knew its true purpose.

Wyatt wasted that first batch, using it for any trivial reason, and he had enough battles in his life to pile up those trivial reasons. Within a year, he needed more. He didn't think he could trick Chris again. He had to find another Whitelighter, preferably a stranger.

It was an early occasion in which he had enlisted the help of a demon. The plan was simple: Injure a witch, draw her Whitelighter to heal her, then go after the Whitelighter -- just enough to get the Whitelighter unconscious and bleeding. It was Wyatt's first lesson in how involving demons can go awry. The witch ended up dead, but the Whitelighter was unconscious and bleeding, so Wyatt vanquished his demon accomplice, collected what he needed, and orbed away before he was seen. The Whitelighter would recover and get assigned a new charge, none the wiser about who was behind the attack. And Wyatt had enough potion to last him a good, long while.

A little too long. By the time his supply needed replenishing, he was shut out from the Elders' protected realms. The potion drew on the energy of those realms, was infused with it, solidified by a Whitelighter's blood. Since that time, for a couple years now, he had had to do without. Soon, though ...

He cut out the stained part of the cloth, discarding the rest, and in a flask he had prepared for the purpose, dropped it in the suspension liquid. It changed from clear to light pink, but most of the blood held on the cloth, as he expected. He stoppered it and nestled it in a lined box that he secured with a spell. He didn't like leaving it here unguarded, but blood infected with Darklighter poison might need some clearing out, and it wasn't going to get that hidden under Wyatt's bed at the Hotel Averno, surrounded by demonic energies. Wyatt took stock of the rest of the ingredients and prepped them. He'd get started in a few days. The blood would be added last, then it would all sit and steep here -- the more time, the more powerful, he had found -- until the potion was ready to be carried home.

* * * *

Walking into his lair, Richard halted for a moment when he spotted Wyatt scanning his bookshelves, on the point of reaching up to take down a volume bound in leather so old it might crumble at the slightest touch. Richard coughed and Wyatt withdrew his hand and, unperturbed, turned to face him.

"How did you get in here?" Richard asked, as behind him his butler, Bolek, scowled.

"Do you think I'd tell you that?"

Still in the doorway, Richard set down a duffel bag and a shovel before brushing dust off his jacket. "At least you didn't touch anything. And, no, I won't tell you how I know, but if you had pulled down that book, you might have found out. Gruesomely. Why are you here?"

"Why do you think -- to check on your progress. For all I knew, you were dead at the bottom of the Mediterranean. But you look like you've been busy -- digging."

"So? I'm not dedicating every waking hour to your little project, not when I've got a long-neglected Underworld dig I can finally get back to."

"Thanks to me. What did you learn in Greece?"

"I learned that the family Brent stole this from was very intent on getting it back. Bolek and I ultimately had to do away with them. They could have come after me. That's the downside to possessing witches -- too easy to scry for. But in the process, I did pick up some useful information. Enough to surprise me that you would want this athame -- or, rather, its twin."

"What do you mean?"

"They're not meant to be used for good. I don't even know if they can."

"Why did the Greek witches have one of them, then?"

"They considered it their family legacy to protect it -- keep it out of the hands of those who might use it. I suspect the other one is in similar custody."

"And what do they do?"

"The one you're looking for? I don't know yet. The one we found in circulation at the market, it's specifically meant to kill witches. The wounds it creates cannot be healed with Whitelighter powers. Or with human medicine, but who cares about that. "

"Maybe the twin does the same."

"Why do you want it if you don't know what it does?"

"It's complicated. And not important for you to know. What's important is to find out what family is protecting the other athame. We know that, our job is done."

"Done except for getting hold of it. Look at this." Richard pulled down the collars of his jacket and shirt to show a purpling bruise on his shoulder. "I got this in Greece. Sometimes I wish the witch's body came with some Whitelighter healing."

"I'll bet you do."

Easing his shirt and jacket back on, he said, "Do you have a Whitelighter you can call on, who can help someone who's helping you?"

"Not really, no. I'm used to being on my own on that score. I certainly don't have enough support to share it. And it looks like you'll live."

"Fine. Back to the point: Getting the athame away from whoever's protecting it may prove dangerous. Although, if you're one of the good guys, wouldn't you be on the same team? Couldn't you just ask nicely?" Richard's tone made his skepticism clear.

"Just find out where they are," Wyatt said. "And we can do our best to make it a non-lethal transaction."

* * * *

"Anybody home?" Phoebe called as she hefted little Wyatt onto her hip and closed the Manor door behind her.

No answer. She hadn't really expected Piper and Paige to be back yet. Phoebe had been tasked with picking Wyatt up from day care -- not an easy errand at all when you couldn't say his name or even indirectly refer to him. But thankfully, the staff knew Wyatt's aunts, so all Phoebe had to do was smile and nod when asked, "Are you here for Wyatt?"

"Piper is at the doctor's office," Phoebe told them.

"Oh, I hope it's nothing serious."

"No, no, just a checkup."

It was quite a bit more than "just" a checkup, but the truth strayed into more difficult territory: Piper was pregnant. Or she was pretty sure she was pregnant -- this was the trip to the doctor to get it officially confirmed. She had already broken the news to her sisters in a house meeting. The last time they had had one of those, she had told Paige and Phoebe to move out, follow their men, live their lives ... but the men were gone, and Paige and Phoebe were back. Going into a house meeting, you had to wonder if this was just about getting potion-making equipment mixed up in the drawers with chef's tools, or something more life-upending -- and probably demonic.

It was life-upending, for sure, but not demonic.

"I think I'm pregnant."

"Oh thank God," Phoebe had exclaimed before she could stop herself.

Piper raised her eyebrows in surprise. "Excuse me?"

Paige was also staring, but Phoebe had no way of explaining her fear for Chris's very existence. Though it could be -- a flash of renewed worry -- that this pregnancy had nothing to do with Chris. Think of Melinda, that little girl Piper had once seen in the future (a future where Prue had been alive), and they got Wyatt instead.

With Phoebe not talking, Paige decided to push the conversation forward. "Uh, can I ask who ..."

"Leo is the father. Remember that night we spent on the Ghostly Plane? I was crying, and he was dying, and, well, here we are."

"And we'll have a -- a -"

Again, Piper and Paige stared at Phoebe as she struggled to get the words out, but she couldn't finish, her voice hitting that now-familiar brick wall.

Then the implications hit her: _I can't talk about this baby!_ She stopped trying to speak and she broke into a big, silent smile. She couldn't talk about this baby, and that had to mean the baby was, beyond a doubt, Chris. Against all odds, he had managed to make his way into this world. Well, not yet, but about eight months from now, Chris would be back in their lives.

"Phoebe," Piper said, "why are you being weird about this?"

"I'm not -- I mean, I don't mean to. I'm just so happy that we'll ..."

"... we'll have a baby in the house, yes," Piper said.

"Are you happy?" Paige asked.

"Yes? I think. Maybe I need to go to the doctor and know for sure before it starts to sink in."

"When are you going to tell Leo?" Phoebe asked.

"I'm not. Not now, anyway. He just had to leave again, and it was hard enough the first time, when he kept coming back because of Chris. But now Chris isn't a problem and Leo has been told that he needs to stay Up There." She sighed. "I know I can't keep it from him forever, but definitely not at this stage -- when I'm not even one hundred percent sure."

"What about Wyatt?" asked Paige. "The big one. Or, heck, the little one, he's getting old enough to understand when he's told he'll have a new little brother or sister."

"When it comes to grown-up Wyatt, I have to wonder if it will be a surprise to him at all," Piper had said.

But Phoebe had wondered since then if he would even be happy about it. Now, with little Wyatt in her arms, she dropped the diaper bag on the floor and silently asked him, _What do you think? You want a little brother?_ Phoebe was getting used to conversations in her head.

Aloud, she announced, "Snack time" -- she was also getting used to being terse around her nephew -- and began to head toward the kitchen, when the doorbell rang. She made an about-face and opened the door.

"Richard? What are you doing here?"

He didn't answer, and Phoebe involuntarily backed up a step when he suddenly grabbed the doorframe on either side, like a man bracing for an earthquake. He blocked Phoebe's way out. Holding Wyatt in one arm, she placed her free hand on the doorknob, ready at any moment to slam the door in his face. The only thing that kept her from doing that right now was a concern for his fingers -- at least until he gave her reason not to care.

"Whoa, are you okay? I don't know if this is the best place for you to be. Maybe you should talk to your brother, get some help."

"No," he said through gritted teeth. "I need your help. The Charmed Ones' help. Please." His voice broke on that last word. However strangely threatening his posture, Phoebe could only believe him.

"Okay, why don't you come in. Paige is--"

"Don't let me in. Just listen. I don't know how long--" He gripped the door even more tightly and shook his head. "Michael. He's not your friend. Don't trust him. He did this to me."

"Did what?"

"Restored ... my powers and ... Forget about me. Already killed a family ..."

"Wait, a family was killed? Who?"

"Woman ... in danger. They're going to--"

Suddenly, Richard let go of the door, pushing himself back with such force that he barely avoided tumbling down the steps behind him. He doubled over. If she hadn't been holding Wyatt, Phoebe would have rushed to him, but keeping her nephew -- this small version, anyway -- safe held her back.

"No!" Richard shouted. "I won't let--"

He suddenly stopped moving, still doubled over.

"Richard?"

He took several deep breaths before he slowly straightened. His face was calm now, and he shook the tension out of his shoulders and arms.

"Seriously, why don't you wait here until Paige gets home? She should be back any time now, and you can tell her everything you know. Because, Richard, I can't."

"You can't?" he asked evenly. "That's good. Then again, maybe I should make sure."

"Excuse me? Look, just--"

She yelped as he produced a fireball. Now in a panic, she scrambled for the door, but she didn't need to reach it. In her arms, Wyatt put up a shield that encompassed both of them and pushed Richard back so that he did tumble down the steps this time. In an attempt to right himself, he landed in a flower bed, snagging his sleeve on rose thorns.

Hands braced in the dirt, he looked up at Phoebe and Wyatt with some disgust. "Fine," he said. "This is his problem now."

And, to Phoebe's astonishment, he shimmered away, leaving behind broken stems and scattered petals as Wyatt let down his shield again.


	17. Chapter 17

Bolek dumped a pile of coats, hats and gloves onto the sofa in Richard's lair. "Find something that fits you," he growled.

Until that point, Wyatt couldn't even have said for sure that Bolek could talk.

"Where is Richard?" Wyatt asked.

"He took that potion you gave him, started choking, and then left. I'm carrying out his orders in case he's coming back, but I'm thinking about what I'll do to you if he doesn't."

"We're on the verge of completing our search. I'd at least wait until he told me where we're going before poisoning him."

"Michael," Penka said, pausing as he held up a down jacket far too large for him, "don't piss off the huge demon bodyguard."

"Yeah, don't piss me off."

"I gave Richard the potion to completely restore his powers. But if he has ditched me, and you see him again, remind him that I will find him. If not now, someday. He'll be looking over his shoulder for decades, until one day he'll come face to face with me, and it will not go well for him."

Penka raised his hand. "For the record, I don't care if Richard comes back, and I won't be tracking him for decades," he told Bolek. "So please don't kill me."

"Just pick a coat, both of you. You're going somewhere cold, and my master told me to prepare you."

"Considerate," Penka said.

"If you're half-frozen, you're no use if there's a battle." He looked at the diminutive Mero demon with disdain. "Not that you'll be any use either way."

Wyatt had already forewarned Richard that Penka would be coming along on this mission: They were getting the athame tonight. Richard wasn't happy about Penka's presence, obviously, but what could he say? They may have teamed up for this hunt, but neither had a real reason to trust the other. And when Richard said he'd only go into this with the witch's powers fully restored, all the more reason for a mind-reader to be pressed into service.

Unless Richard was already on the run.

But no sooner had Wyatt picked out a wool overcoat, Richard appeared in the middle of the room, in something of a blend of demonic shimmering and Richard-the-witch's materializing. Scowling, he acted as though Penka didn't exist, and directed his non-greeting straight to Wyatt.

"We've got trouble. Or maybe just you do."

"What are you talking about?" Wyatt asked, as Penka sullenly backed away, clutching a parka.

Richard let out a breath of frustration. "This host." With a downward fling of his hands, he indicated the body he was occupying. "Of course, he's been fighting me from the start; they all do. He's been very weak. But that potion -- yes, it restored all his remaining powers. But it also gave him a foothold. He broke through."

"Are you in control now?"

"Yes. I pushed him back down. But he made it all the way to your friends, the Charmed Ones, knocked on their door, and managed to get your name out and say his powers had been restored, and that a witch was in danger, before I got control again."

"Damn it. Which one heard this?"

"The witch Richard knows as Phoebe. She was holding a baby."

"Did you do anything to the baby, or her?"

"Nothing. I tried, but the baby threw me back with his shield, and I left. I could have done you a favor. I assume you don't want people to know you're working with me, or how you offered up this witch for my possession."

"I don't, but the Charmed Ones, and the baby, are under my protection, you got it?"

"The Charmed Ones? Somehow, I don't think they need the protection of a witch with no active powers. But you may need protection from them, now."

"No, I won't. No one else was there but Phoebe and the baby?"

"No."

"Then I'm fine."

Richard smirked. "I see. If you're sure."

Penka volunteered, "He's guessing you have a hold over Phoebe because you're sleeping with her."

"Ugh, _no_. But my 'hold' over her will protect me, but not you. They will go to Richard's house and when they find you're not there, they will track you down. I hope you're working on a plausible story."

"He'll try to kill them," Penka said, and Richard glared.

"I know that's what he's thinking. But I also know he has no chance against the Charmed Ones. So if he wants to live, he'd do better to come up with some explanation that will make them leave him alone." Wyatt turned to Richard. "The witch -- ex-witch -- was already cut out of their lives. My suggestion? Convince them that you've been 'depossessed' -- even pretend to let them do it, let them save you -- and then go back to staying away from them. Provided you can control the original Richard, of course. Are you up for doing this tonight?"

"Yes," he snapped. "I'm fine. I've got control."

"Then can we get down to business?" Wyatt put on a wool overcoat without removing his usual jacket. "Where are we going?"

Richard took a deep breath and calmed himself. Then he replied: "Canada. Far enough north that a balmy spring still means a good foot of snow."

* * * *

Night was coming on as Paige and Phoebe arrived outside the Montanas' house.

"You think we should have just orbed right into the house?" Phoebe asked. "I don't know, maybe catch him off guard or something."

"He didn't like that when we were dating, you think he'll like it when we've broken up? And when he's apparently evil?"

Standing on the lawn, they saw no lights shining from windows, though there was enough remaining daylight outside that you couldn't quite trust that the house was unoccupied.

"I don't know that we can say he's evil, Paige. I mean, he was trying to warn us about something. A woman who's in danger. Until, um, he tried to throw a fireball at me. But we've seen stuff like this before, unfortunately. If he's possessed, it's not his fault."

"I know."

"You okay?"

"No, I'm really not. We broke up so that he could have a chance of overcoming his problem with magic, and magic just follows him -- demonic magic, no less. And why would he restore his powers? Sure, if he's possessed, it's not his fault, but if he got his powers back, who else's fault can that be?" Paige's worry had morphed into frustration. "Come on, let's do this."

She marched up to the front door and pushed the doorbell.

They waited. Nothing. Paige hit the bell again. More waiting, more nothing. Evening was truly coming on now, and still there was nothing but darkness in the house.

"Are you sure we shouldn't go in?" Phoebe asked. "He did ask for our help, you know."

Paige made a move to take Phoebe's hand, but then stopped. "No. Even if he asked for help, breaking into his house could make things a lot worse. But I'm going to wait out here a while longer. I can take you home first if you want."

"No, no, I can wait."

They were silent for a while, sitting on the porch of the darkened house. Phoebe noticed Paige studying the lights from the Callaway house across the way.

"I don't think they had anything to do with it," Phoebe said.

"I'm not ruling anything out. That feud went on for decades. Who's to say it hasn't restarted?"

Phoebe sighed.

"What?" Paige asked.

"I was just thinking ... I was remembering all that time you were suspicious of Cole, you knew something was up with him, but you couldn't convince anyone. Lately, I'm really understanding how you felt."

"Oh, heh." Paige had that falsely light tone she got when she was more hurt or angry than she wanted to let on. "So it's your turn to say, 'I told you so'?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, you never wanted me to date Richard in the first place. And now he's fallen off the wagon, turned evil, whatever."

"No! That's not what I meant."

"Well, okay, what did you mean?"

"I meant ... oh, I can't explain."

"Or you won't."

Phoebe opened her mouth to try to protest, but Paige didn't give her the chance. She abruptly stood up and pulled out her phone.

"We don't have to stay here. I'm calling Richard's brother -- you know, someone who actually has responsibility for him, not to mention a key to this house and the right to go in."

* * * *

With Wyatt and Penka in tow, Richard shimmered to their destination. Penka gasped as they materialized -- clumps of snow showered on his head from a disturbed tree branch, just missing the other two, which Wyatt was sure was intentional. They were just inside a wooded area, and across a clearing was a lone house. If that house had neighbors, they were shrouded beyond the snow-heavy trees.

Penka removed his knit hat and slapped it on his thigh to clear off the snow as Wyatt indicated the wide, white yard and asked, "You expect us to tramp across that?"

"No sense in leaving footprints if we don't have to," Richard said. "I just wanted to get the lay of the land before we shimmer right into the house. Starting with Penka making himself useful. Are there any demons in there? Or nearby?"

"Only you," Penka said as he pulled his hat back over his static-y blond hair.

"And you."

Bolek had been left behind. "With both him and your little Mero along," Richard had told Wyatt, "we'd be turning into an invading army, and that's not how I work. Plus, you're a witch, and I can pass as one – it gives us magical plausible deniability should we need it. The more obvious demon helpers we've got with us, the less believable that gets."

If that was bait to offer to leave Penka behind as well, Wyatt didn't take it. Now, outside the house, he asked Richard, "Do you expect demons around?"

"You never know, especially with that other athame recently out in circulation. I've learned to be careful. Come to think of it, I ought to employ my own Mero for demon-detecting. I've heard his sister is talented."

"You know my sister?" Penka asked.

"Trust me," Wyatt told Richard, "even if you could afford her, you couldn't control her." _Let's not jeopardize Caza's career path_ , Wyatt thought. He'd rather return to a future where she was still in his employ. Penka, meanwhile, looked about ready to flee, alarmed at the very mention of her, so Wyatt grabbed his arm and directed the conversation back to the task at hand. "I'm going to skirt along the edge of the wood to see if there's a car parked out front."

"I don't even know if the athame is in the house. I'll scout around for outbuildings. Don't be seen."

Staying within the tree line, they spread out around the house, looking for signs of life within. When Wyatt trudged far enough to see the front of the house, there were tire tracks in the snow and mud of a long drive leading from a road, but no vehicle was in sight. It was already twilight here, but the only light Wyatt spotted was the porch light, waiting for someone to come home. He retraced his steps, finding Penka milling about uncertainly along the way, and they both met up with Richard at the same spot where they had arrived.

"It looks empty," Richard said. "But it will be safest not to shimmer right into the living room. I'm thinking the cellar is the best bet anyway."

"If it were the Charmed Ones, they'd be keeping it in the attic."

"Time to split up, I think."

And so Penka, with Wyatt along as a passenger, shimmered into the attic, where Wyatt promptly banged his head against the low beams of the roof. At least his head didn't materialize halfway through the shingles -- Penka had the sense to look out for that. This was no spacious, finished attic like the Manor's. Insulation showed through gaps between creaky floorboards that were piled with storage boxes and bins crowding the small space. They had their work cut out for them.

They began lifting lids and poking through boxes of clothes, photos and books. Wyatt pulled out a small flashlight, but Penka was left to feel his way around in the increasing dark. Eventually, he seemed to find his efforts worthless, because he stopped searching to stand in one place (the ceiling's height was perfectly adequate for him) and watch Wyatt at work.

Then he apparently decided to say what was on his mind. "So you offered up this witch Richard, so Yvonne could have a new body?"

"What of it?"

"Well, uh, he's a witch, so are you. Aren't you supposed to, I don't know, be for witches and against demons?"

"Says the demon, standing right there. Are you saying you'd rather I vanquish you?" Behind a stack of modern plastic tubs, Wyatt zeroed in on more likely prospects: a short stack of the oldest-looking containers, wrinkly cardboard boxes from long-defunct companies and a plain, sturdy wooden casket.

"No, don't vanquish me. I just don't get you. Witches are supposed to be good, remember?"

"Demons are supposed to be evil, remember?" Wyatt said.

Yes, this corner was where he was now finding items associated with witchcraft. Amid vintage clothes and unremarkable books were yellowing notebooks of spells in spidery handwriting that he supposed made up this family's version of the Book of Shadows.

As he flipped through one of the notebooks -- noticing its emphasis on protection -- he continued: "What is it with you? You say you're forced to help the Halliwell witches, but you've got a weird streak of conscience. Don't deny it. That's why you're fretting about Yvonne. If it helps your troubled mind, I took on this mission under the direction of an Elder. Is that your definition of evil?"

"How should I know what Elders get up to?" Penka muttered as he mildly kicked a broken chair.

The wooden box contained a jumble of dried-up potion ingredients that ought to have been tossed years ago, loose papers and a pile of letters with stamps that were probably worth something ... and underneath that mess, a glint of metal.

Wyatt pushed aside the letters and found the hilt of the athame. Holding it up, he shone the flashlight on it.

"Whoa," Penka said. "Is that it?"

Wyatt didn't immediately answer, turning the athame over, studying its shape and markings before he finally said, "No."

"Oh."

"It's a really good imitation, though."

"You're telling me we came up to this frozen wasteland and these people have a fake?"

"I don't think so. My guess: This is a decoy. I wouldn't be surprised if the house was littered with them. Someone breaks in, finds one, thinks they've accomplished the job, and leaves none the wiser."

"How can you tell it's fake?"

"For one, this box was not locked. But also, I have a connection to the real one. I don't know why." He gave a short laugh as the thought hit him: "Maybe I have a connection because I'm doing this right now."

"Huh?"

"Never mind." Wyatt turned the fake athame over in his hands, watching it in the flashlight beam. "I don't need to dig through boxes," he mused. "I only need to ask for it."

He closed his eyes and let it come to him. It wasn't in the attic. It was here, yes, below him. Not as low as the cellar, though. Let Richard go on playing archaeologist down there.

Springing up as much as he could and still holding the fake athame (even without special powers, it was still a weapon), Wyatt made for the trap door, which folded down into a ladder reaching into the dark hallway below. Almost jumping down, he barely used the rungs. Penka followed much more carefully.

Wyatt pushed open the door right next to the ladder -- this was where he needed to be. It was someone's bedroom, and above the headboard was a large painting of two dogs. With the few strides it took to cross the room, Wyatt reached the painting and pulled it from the wall. It took a little effort -- it was not just hanging by a nail, but secured with screws. With only a little damage to the frame, he got it down and tossed it on the bed.

Behind it was blank wall. Except ... there it was, the faintest crack in the drywall that formed a rectangle. A panel to a hidey-hole -- with no handles to open it. Using the decoy knife, Wyatt began to pry at the edges, working the blade into the gap that was barely there.

And then he heard a door open downstairs. Wyatt briefly froze, then resumed his work with more intensity. Penka tugged at the sleeve of Wyatt's coat.

"I know," Wyatt whispered. "Don't panic. And don't you dare leave. You know I can call you back in a second with Penny Halliwell's spell, so just stay put until I say go."

At first, the only noises coming from below were those of someone settling in after coming home, a bag dropped on the floor, a closet door open and shut, the jingle of tags as a dog shook itself. But then the dog began to growl and a door somewhere was slammed open. A crash, the sound of glass breaking, then wood splintering. A pitched battle had begun. Whoever it was had found Richard, or vice versa.

Penka ran to the bedroom door and peered out, while Wyatt gave up on the fake athame as a tool, dropped it on the bed and cast his eye about the room. He picked up an antique lamp of an ornate design in bronze. It was weighty and sturdily made -- that would do. He yanked the cord from the socket, wrenched off the lampshade, and aimed the heavy base at the wall.

The blows to the drywall at first blended in with the crashing below -- until a man's words, "Stop! I'm not--" turned to a scream, a scream that ended with the telltale whoosh of vanquishing flames. Their time was up, but one more swing and he was there ...

Penka scurried away from the door as the sound of paws on stairs grew louder and he nearly missed getting knocked down by the lamp as Wyatt tossed it aside and plunged his hand into the newly made hole in the wall. He grasped a leather bag, feeling the hilt of the athame within, just as the snarling dog, a large, wolf-like beast, barreled through the doorway.

"Let's go!" Wyatt shouted, but Penka did not react fast enough. The dog was on Wyatt, its jaws seizing his leg. He saw a woman reach the doorway -- and then the room vanished.

A second later, Wyatt and Penka shimmered into Richard's lair. Wyatt could feel the wetness of blood on his leg, but at least there was no dog attached to it.

Penka ripped off his hat and struggled out of his parka. "I am done with this. You can say your spell as many times as you want, I'll just keep going away and away and away from you until you stop."

"Are you going to abandon me down here? I can't get out on my own. Just hold on, get me above ground, and then I'll forget the Halliwells' summoning spell even exists."

Wyatt pulled the athame from its pouch and had a look. This was no fake. And unlike its partner, it was in far better condition -- a light tarnish, but no rust. He didn't want to deliver it to Gideon. Why not just keep it? Because, he again reminded himself, in his future, where his real life awaited, he already had it. If he turned this over to Gideon, it would one day be his; it already was his. Why risk that by taking it here in the past? He thought of his brother, blundering about in the past and probably erasing his own existence. That convinced Wyatt to avoid temptation: He could at least be more sensible than Chris.

Apparently curious despite himself, Penka crept over to look. "Is that--" Then he shook his head. "I don't care. Why are we hanging around here? Bolek's gone for now, but if he comes back, he's going to wonder where his master is. And his master is dead, I know that for sure. Probably along with that witch Richard."

Wyatt set the athame down, but kept eyeing it as he removed his coat and retrieved from his jacket a vial of his all-purpose vanquishing potion. "We could get lucky," he told Penka. "A lot of times demons are glad to lose minion status when their master gets vanquished."

"I've been inside his head. Bolek would not be glad."

"Yeah, I suspected that. If he shows up, this potion should take care of him. We can leave in just a minute. I want to find something -- something, as it happens, I paid for. It's mine."

At the back of the room, Wyatt thought he spotted what he was looking for, on a worktable scattered with cleaning tools and dusty objects, among Richard's last archaeological finds. Wyatt limped over to the table: The athame from the market was there, resting atop a small pile of books and papers. Maybe he had no inexplicable connection to it, but the thing seemed to have similar, if not the same, powers as the one he'd turn over to Gideon, and a little rust probably wouldn't dampen those.

When he saw the drawing of Gideon's athame among those papers, he took the whole stack, gathering that this was Richard's research. That was something else he could take with him to the future: more knowledge about where this thing came from, and what it could do.

"One more trip," he told Penka. "Take me outside the Hotel Averno, and after that, you'll never hear from me again."


	18. Chapter 18

Gideon had set up Wyatt's entrance to Magic School in P3 -- but moved the door from behind the stage to the store room, Chris's old digs amid the stacked boxes of beer and thumping music at night. The door was much less conspicuous there, but Wyatt had no idea how Piper might have explained it to the staff. On the other hand, the employees of this place were probably inured to such oddities.

The club was already open, but, hoping to avoid his mother, Wyatt let himself in through the employee entrance with the key she had given him. Back at Hotel Averno, he had stashed Richard's notes and books under the bed, changed his clothes and bandaged the bite wound from the Canadian witch's dog. But he was limping a little, and didn't want to deal with Piper’s concern if she noticed -- which she most certainly would.

He didn't escape her. Her sixth sense for locating her sons was working even at this early time, and before he could make it to the Magic School door, there she was in the doorway of the store room.

"Hello, stranger. Can we talk? For weeks, I don't think I've seen you more than a glimpse as you made your way to Magic School."

"I've been trying to stay clear. After Dad showed up injured ... I may have acted a bit too concerned, you know? I didn't want to make anyone suspicious about my identity. Plus, I've been busy with Gideon's mission."

"Hmm." Piper never sounded sold on Gideon, Wyatt was glad to notice. "How's that going?" she asked.

"Perfectly. As of today, the job is completed. I was just going to see him."

"Which means..."

"Which means it's coming time for me to go home."

"Yeah," Piper said wistfully. "I guess you have to get back to your life. We've still got that Power of Three spell to send you back."

_Power of Three._ Damn. He had forgotten about that spell he had written. That could pose a problem.

"The spell may need some tweaking," he told Piper. "Have Phoebe take a look at it."

"Phoebe?"

"She'll know why."

"What is it with the two of you?" Piper asked. "Phoebe seems to clam up every time I even talk about you."

"It's complicated. We've always butted heads ... always will butt heads. Don't worry about it. It's just family."

"Don't I know it. And, yeah, about that -- family, that is. I wanted to let you know -- I'm pregnant. You're going to have a little brother or sister. And, just to get it out of the way, not half. You both have the same parents."

Wyatt just nodded.

"This isn't a surprise to you, I take it?"

"No. Though after I found out that Chris broke you and Dad up, I've been worried that I'd get back to the future and be an only child. So I'm glad to know I still have a ..."

Piper waved off his reluctance to speak further. "Oh, after the big surprise that was _you_ , this time I'm going to let the doctor tell me if it's a boy or girl. So you might as well instead."

"Right. I still have a brother."

She smiled brightly. "Okay, your brother. I'll get to thinking on those names. No telling me that! Leave that for me at least."

"And Dad doesn't get a say?"

"He doesn't know about it." She sighed. "Yet. He's gone back to full-time Elder, so I haven't seen him."

"So some things are still changed."

She regarded him for a moment, her expression shading into something more melancholy. "At least you have your brother to look after you."

"Him? _Little_ brother, remember? I'd look after him if he'd let me."

"Look after each other. I worry about you, your future..."

"My future's great, Mom. Don't worry about me. Or him. I'll take care of him, whether he wants me to or not."

"For now, that's my job." She touched her belly. "And, really, it's never going to stop being my job. Just accept it."

"I've really got to go, Mom. Can you call me when Phoebe's worked out that spell?"

He turned to the Magic School door, determined not to limp, but sure enough, she noticed something.

"You're bleeding!"

Wyatt looked down and saw the fresh bloodstain on the lower leg of his jeans. "Yeah, this job for Gideon got a little dangerous. But it's fine. I just need to change the bandage."

"No, you need to tell Gideon to heal that. This was his doing -- his job, so he's responsible."

Wyatt was already thinking of other options far preferable, but he said, "Okay, okay, I got it."

"And I will check to make sure he did it. Go on then."

But before he could try to leave again, she suddenly pulled him into a hug. Small as she was, he had to bend over to hug her back -- that had been the case for several years before her death, but not by this much. The feeling of it was both terribly familiar and piercingly different.

After she let him go, she said, "Maybe I can see you in some non-crisis situation before we send you back? A family dinner tomorrow evening -- what dish do I make that's your favorite?"

It was too long ago; he couldn't remember.

"Anything," he said. "Anything you make is my favorite."

* * * *

Wyatt went to his workroom in Magic School. He would have to see Gideon at some point, but his first goal was to carefully pack up his potion, finished at last. He had divvied it up among a collection of about two-dozen good-sized vials, and now he was wrapping each in common bubble wrap and arranging them in a latched metal box he had acquired just for this purpose. He saved one vial that he tucked in the inner pocket of his jacket, next to the market athame, when a glow of purple orbs illuminated his work. Gideon never knocked.

"You're leaving?" Gideon asked, surveying the partial deconstruction of Wyatt's workspace.

"Soon. But don't worry, I've kept up my end." From a shelf below his worktable, Wyatt pulled the leather bag and handed it over.

Gideon's eyes widened as he removed the athame from the bag. Strangely, a flicker of something almost like fear crossed his expression as he gazed at it.

"Well done," he said, in a voice that was nearly a whisper. "Well done."

Wyatt considered telling him that the athame seemed to have been under the protection of witches all along, but thought better of it. Instead, he said, "I know you'd rather not hear the details of how it came into my hands. But you can, at least, deal with this." Wyatt put his right foot up on a chair, rolling up the leg of his jeans and carefully removing the bandage he had put on his wounds.

"Ah. Some kind of hellbeast?"

"You could say that. I think it was a husky."

Gideon apparently decided not to inquire further, and Wyatt waited as the Elder's healing energy closed all the punctured flesh and the blood and bruising vanished.

"It's a pity," Gideon said as he straightened up.

"What is?"

"That someone with your innate capabilities has no active powers."

"Well, maybe my _weakness_ forces me to get creative."

"Indeed. In the future, if I have-"

"No." Wyatt felt a sudden, overwhelming need to get far away from Gideon. He imagined pain creeping back into his leg, though he knew that if he looked, there would be no open wounds, no fresh blood. "This was a one-time job. I have no interest in working for you indefinitely. I'm moving on."

"Of course," Gideon said. "But you're welcome to return, to use the school's resources again if you ever find the need."

_Bullshit_ , Wyatt thought. _Where I come from, you and your kind have thoroughly shut me out._ He didn't expect that to change when he got home. Time to pack up and say goodbye to Magic School for good.

* * * *

Wyatt didn't know how his completely healed leg could make him feel sickened, but it did. After slipping out of P3 without talking to his mother again, he decided a walk would both stretch the leg and clear his head. Just like his first night here in the past, he headed out from P3 toward the Averno, though now with more confidence in his path.

He had reached the outskirts of the derelict neighborhood that housed the hotel when the feeling hit him: He was being followed. He stopped and turned, but saw no one in the light of the street lamps. This was an area with many dark recesses, however, so his eyes told him nothing. He felt for the hilt of the rusty athame tucked in the inside pocket of his jacket. The streets were empty and he couldn't exactly get a taxi, but he could be prepared.

Two blocks on, and nothing had happened. The feeling of a presence lurking behind him had also subsided, but Wyatt didn't let down his guard.

He was passing a junkyard that looked abandoned, or at least neglected: The fence was topped with razor wire, but ahead a thick chain that may have once secured the gate lay dangling off it, trailing on the ground.

_Don't walk past that._ Cross this street, where it was nothing but well-boarded windows.

He made the decision too late. The moment he stepped off the curb, the chain lashed out and grabbed his ankle, yanking him to the pavement and dragging him into the junkyard, where an unseen force then slammed his whole body against the fence.

"Don't move," said a woman's voice.

She stepped out of the shadows -- the same woman whom Wyatt had seen fleetingly as he and Penka shimmered out of her home hours before.

He tried to raise his hands, but she flicked her hand and the chain wrapped across his front, hooking itself into the fence over his shoulder diagonally from his left ankle and calf, where it dug into his recently healed skin.

"I mean it," she said, "stay put, or so help me, they'll find you strung up in the morning. Where is the athame?"

"I don't have it."

She tightened the chain.

"Search me if you want, I don't have it."

"Which means what, you gave it to that demon you were with?"

"Penka? No, he was just transportation."

She paced in front of him -- she was smart enough not to take him up on the offer to search him, unfortunately. Telekinesis worked better at a distance, and magical powers aside, she was slightly built, middle-aged -- Wyatt knew he could easily overpower her.

"You're a witch," she said finally.

"So are you."

"Why would you do this? Join up with demons to break into my house and steal that athame? Your friend's dead, by the way, and I'm none too pleased having a corpse in my house. I vanquished what I thought was a demon. They usually vanish in the flames. This one left a body behind."

"I didn't know that would happen. Really, I didn't. Listen to me -- I was working for an Elder."

"Oh, this gets even better."

"I don't understand it either, but I'm at the point where I want to. There's an Elder who asked me to find this thing. I don't know why he wanted or needed it, but he made it clear that he couldn't dirty his hands in the search for it. Maybe I got carried away, but I have no active powers, and I found some disreputable help."

"Because some Elder gave you license to?"

"Something like that."

"That doesn't make any sense. My family has been charged with keeping that athame for centuries. We always understood that even keeping it secret from the Elders would make it safer. Why would an Elder want it back?"

"Because he found out about it and decided it wasn't safe, and frankly, it wasn't. It's just you and a dog? And drywall?"

"Shut up. You don't know what I've lost. I haven't been on my own in this until very recently." She shook her head. "I should have known. After Bill died..."

"What's your name?"

"What?"

"Can we just talk? I'm Michael. I'm sorry about the dead demon in your living room. I can promise you the athame is safe in the Elder's realms. But I want to figure this out as much as you do. What is so special about the athame?"

"The Elder never told you?"

"No. But now that I've played such a big part in its fate, I'd really like to know. Look--" He moved a hand toward his chest and she raised a hand and tightened the chain. "Fine," he said. "In my jacket pocket is another athame, a false trail. It turned up in the Demon Market here in town. Supposedly, it kills witches -- creates a wound that can't be healed. It looks a lot like yours. Is that what yours does?"

She slightly loosened the chain, but Wyatt didn't make a move to the pocket again.

"I don't know about this other you talk about, but the one we have -- had -- our family lore said that it was used to exterminate Whitelighters. Wipe them out."

"It didn't, obviously. I know plenty of Whitelighters."

"Supposedly, there was a strain of Whitelighters that had some kind of special power. I don't know what. Beyond that, well, it would kill them -- unhealable wounds, like you say. And they say that power, whatever it was, there hasn't been another Whitelighter with it since then. This was centuries ago, lost in time."

Wyatt stared past her, processing this.

"Why didn't Gideon just leave well enough alone, then?"

"Gideon is your Elder?"

"The Elder I was helping, yes."

"He didn't think it was safe in our hands anymore."

"I suppose so."

Suddenly, with a flick of her hand, she released the chain. It dropped to the ground and Wyatt, standing on one leg, flexed his ankle.

"You know, that's where your dog got me."

"I know. I did it on purpose. I'm inclined to believe you just because your leg's not bleeding again -- the Elder healed you, I assume?"

"Yeah."

"I'm June, by the way."

"June. Good to meet you."

"Can I see this other athame?" She was still keeping her distance.

Wyatt pulled it out and, taking a cautious step toward her, held it out. She took it and inspected it.

"It's not quite the same," she said. "But I can see the connection. I wonder if it also broke through any special witch powers."

"No idea."

"You know, if this Elder had just asked..."

"He didn't know where it was. All he knew was that it existed."

"And he wanted it out of circulation. Maybe keeping it a secret from the Elders way back when wasn't such a good plan after all."

"I don't know, the plan worked for centuries."

"Until me."

"Just bad luck. Honestly, I don't know if the demons would have found it -- I'll bet they would have fell for the decoys -- but you had the bad luck that I was there."

"Really. What's so special about you?"

"I found it."

"And this, too." She held out the rusty athame. "It must be your forte."

Wyatt didn't take the athame back. "Would you ever use it? Against a witch?"

"No. What a question. Why would I?"

The words just came out, almost against his will. "You keep it. Protect that one. Whoever was looking after it before lost it, and not to an Elder. It was for sale in a Demon Market. Yours would be better hands."

June gave a short laugh. "Do you think the Elder might reimburse me for the wall you destroyed?"

"Maybe. I'll look into it. Sorry about that."

She looked at the athame. "I'll keep it safe."

"By the way, how exactly are you getting home? How did you get here in the first place?"

"Your blood on the floor. It was a simple spell to transport me to you. And it's reversible."

"Interesting. Does the blood have to be fresh?"

"Um, I don't know. Never really thought about it, but I suppose any traces will do."

_Damn it._ And he had liked her.

"The thing is," Wyatt said slowly, "you say you wouldn't use an athame like that, but you never know, do you? What if in the future there was a witch who people thought of as evil? Would you use that athame on him?"

She looked perplexed. "I guess I'd cross that bridge when I came to it."

Then again, she could be dead in twenty years' time, this meeting in darkness long forgotten. The athame would be in some other family members' hands, if any were left. But what side would they be on? Would they know how to get to him? What if she had preserved even a trace of his blood from that dog's bite? An athame that targeted witches could target him equally as well as one intended for Whitelighters.

Wyatt didn't even realize he had been trembling until that trembling stopped. A calmness of purpose overcame him. June was momentarily distracted as she zipped up her coat, preparing to return north. She still held the athame, but loosely...

He caught her off guard, seizing her hand and the athame, and whipping her around so that her back was pressed to his chest. Her hand may have still been on the weapon as he slashed it across her throat. Rusty and dull as it was, with force behind it, the blade did its job.

_Unhealable wounds_ ... but this wouldn’t take long. No time for anyone to come to her aid, even if it would have done any good. 

As June slipped to the ground, Wyatt could not see, but only imagined, the shock in her eyes as the life in them faded out.


	19. Chapter 19

Caza crossed her arms and smirked at Cole. "I knew Wyatt shouldn't have trusted you. I didn't know exactly why, but I knew it. But did he listen? No. He set us against each other, and he liked it that way, so he thought I was just jealous. Like you were any sort of threat to me. Little did I know, all I had to do was have a reunion with my dear brother, and all the secrets open up to me."

"Sorry," Penka squeaked.

"It's all right," Cole said. "She can consider herself our prisoner now."

"Please, I know my situation: I've been your prisoner since you brought me here. I'm just kicking myself that I didn't ferret you out sooner.” She shook her head at Penka and Chris. "In with these two. That’s just sad. And Andras? Are you working with him, too?"

"Seriously? What do you think we've been doing all afternoon?" Chris broke in. "I helped you capture him!"

"Andras has a mole in Wyatt's organization. We know that. And just because Andras's plan is news to Penka, that doesn't mean anything. You're smart to keep him in the dark as much as you can."

"Give me a break," Cole said. "I'm not working with Andras."

"Either way, I can't figure out why you're trying to stop him. All this time you've been working to bring down Wyatt, why aren't you grabbing this opportunity?"

"Something about destroying the city and taking out thousands of innocent lives," Chris said. "You wouldn't understand."

"Oh, I understand. I understand that's why you'll lose. Why your little band of resisters has already lost."

"I don't know," said Cole. "You're our prisoner, we have control of the Manor, and Wyatt's disappeared. Why would we want to trade one evil overlord for another, right when things are looking up?"

"Wyatt's disappeared?" repeated Andras, who had been looking amused as he followed the argument.

"Oh, smart, very smart," Caza said to Cole, and then to Andras, "There's no way he'll be kept away for long, and when he's back, you'd best hope all he'll do is vanquish you before you can beg for mercy."

"We'll see," Andras said. "I do hope that Wyatt returns, long enough to find out how one of his lieutenants has double-crossed him. It adds extra vindication."

"Oh!" Penka exclaimed. "Double-crossing -- I know this one!" At the baffled looks around him, he continued, "No, that's what I heard one of his minions thinking about. This thing they're planning, it's a revenge thing, as far as the minion is concerned. I guess Wyatt killed a friend of his, a fellow demon. He's still very sad," Penka added with a touch of mock sympathy. "The minion didn't seem to know the details of how it went down, but they all think that Wyatt double-crossed them somehow? He was going to strike a deal with them, I guess, and--"

Then both Mero demons, brother and sister, suddenly whipped their heads toward Andras, who had lost his smug demeanor.

"Hey, Penka, I think you've struck a nerve," Caza said.

Chris's first thought was: Who cares about his motive? If not a power grab, it was going to be revenge -- or both. But then he watched Caza and Penka draw nearer to the cage and realized the important thing: They had found a crack in Andras's mental defenses.

"Stay out of my head, you bottom feeders," Andras snarled at them.

Unexpectedly, Caza backed up, crossing her arms. "I'm still not getting anything. Penka, you're the one that broke through. Try again."

Penka looked pleased in spite of himself. He put on an appraising air as he stood before Andras, who tried to imperiously turn his back on the smaller demon, but only ended up hitting the edge of the cage and shocking himself.

"Yeah," Penka mused, "he definitely thinks that he deserved a piece of the pie when Wyatt came to power and now he's gonna take the whole pie for himself."

"Great, but what's the actual plan?" Cole growled.

"Hey, he's resisting. You can't expect everything at once, you know. Sooo ..." Penka cocked his head like he was trying to catch a distant voice. "Sometime when Wyatt was still pretending to be a good witch, he told Andras that he was looking for demons to join--"

"Stop!" Andras said. "I can tell this tale for myself -- I have no desire to keep it secret. Better all should know. Yes, Wyatt communicated that he wanted to strike an alliance with me. He was done with the fight between good and evil, and he wanted to combine magical forces. I was intrigued. So intrigued, I was foolishly trusting. We arranged a meeting, a summit, in this very house. I arrived, with two of my assistants. At first, Wyatt acted like he really meant to go through with it. But then, in orbed the two remaining Charmed Ones, and he turned on us. I had been double-crossed, led right into a trap."

"There was a battle, right in that room over there," Penka said, pointing toward the sunroom. "I can see it in your memory. One of your minions killed Paige; Wyatt killed him. Phoebe got the other, and you killed her -- then you ran."

"At least we could claim the glory of vanquishing the last Charmed Ones. I plan to finish this revenge by taking out the son, bringing down to earth the almighty 'Twice Blessed.'"

Only Chris was watching Cole, who stood apart, his face as strangely detached as Chris felt, and in his palm a fireball that he bounced ever so slightly.

Penka was talking: "So Wyatt set a trap and now -- Hey!"

He half-spun, avoiding the force of Cole's fireball, which nearly clipped his shoulder on its way to Andras.

"What the hell!" Caza shouted over Andras's screaming. "We still needed him!"

"And we've still got him," Cole replied.

Indeed, the fire was burning itself out within the cage, leaving Andras smoldering, gasping for breath, but otherwise unharmed.

"He's not going to be easy to vanquish, is he?" Cole said.

"No," Penka replied while Andras just glowered. "That's how come he got away that night."

"Still, it's kind of satisfying." And Cole hurled another fireball at Andras, and one more for good measure.

This time, Caza just rolled her eyes. "I don't believe this, Turner. Your betrayal -- it's all been about that witch?"

"It wasn't a trap." No one seemed to be paying attention to Chris, and they didn't turn when he spoke. So he stepped forward to Andras and repeated: "It wasn't a trap when you came to meet Wyatt."

"And how do you know that?" Andras said, his voice now ragged.

"Because I was there. It wasn't a trap. It was an accident."

Cole spoke up: "Are you still trying to defend Wyatt on this? Because-"

"No. I'm not." Chris found himself trying to keep his voice from shaking. "Phoebe and Paige weren't even supposed to be there that day. I had called them. I wanted ... I wanted ... damn it, some support in dealing with the direction Wyatt was headed. I wasn't getting any from Leo, so I asked my aunts to come over, and we'd talk to him together. They were dead before we could stage an intervention. I thought we had just stumbled on a demon battle that went to hell, and Wyatt let me believe that. But he wasn't fighting evil that night, was he? He was trying to strike an alliance with evil, and it was only because we showed up that he turned on the demons. I still don't think he meant for Phoebe and Paige to be killed. By the time I orbed in, he was fighting alongside them." He studied Andras. "It was so chaotic, I never got a good look at the demons. I just know that by the time it was over, two of them were vanquished and one of them got away. But it was all just an accident of bad timing. The end result, my aunts were dead and you didn't get in on the ground floor of Wyatt's great reign."

"And you still believe he can be saved?" Cole asked.

Chris had no answer. It was funny, he thought. So much time had passed since that night, so many worse deeds Wyatt had committed. Why was it only now that he felt hope flickering out?

"Okay," Caza said. "You two can have your little shared mental breakdown here, but I don't see that this is doing us much good. Penka?"

"Huh? What?"

"I am surrounded by idiots. Penka, what else can you get?"

"I was just trying to get at him when you interrupted me," he sniped right back. Then he admitted, "But we shouldn't have let him talk. It gave him the control to shut me out again."

Andras looked smug again, and Caza looked ready to throw a fireball at him herself, and at her brother as well.

"Terrific," she said. "All this, and we've learned exactly nothing."

"Learned more than you got," Penka muttered.

"No, wait," Chris said. "We have learned something. He wouldn't go after the Pyramid. Why would he? It means nothing to him. It's not the place of his humiliation."

"Son of a bitch!" Cole suddenly exclaimed. "She wasn't in the kitchen, she was coming from the basement!"

"She?" Caza said. "Who's 'she'?"

But Cole shimmered out, and Chris followed, orbing to the basement.

There he found Cole standing over a collection of ritual items: dull rocks -- Chris hazarded a guess they came from some Underworld quarry -- encircling herbs, bones, and the desiccated corpse of ... something. Whatever it was still had tufts of fur clinging to the leathery hide.

"Who did this?" he asked Cole.

"A museum guide. That was the mole that Caza's been going on about. The woman walked right in when the shield was down. And I let her walk out, dammit."

"But aren't all the guides mortals?"

"As far as I know, but if all Andras needed her to do was to arrange this stuff down here, over the Nexus ..." He bent over and picked up a fallen sheet of paper and held it up. On it was a diagram that perfectly matched the array on the floor. "She did her job."

Cole dropped the paper, and as it drifted down, Chris felt the slightest tremor emanating from the earth. Barely perceptible, but Cole's next words took on a new urgency.

"You take care of the rocks. I'll get the rest."

Chris used telekinesis to break up the circle, sending the stones slamming into the basement walls. With several fireballs, Cole incinerated to ash the herbs, bones, and corpse. Then Chris invented a spell on the spot, just to make sure:

_Let Andras no destruction sow_  
 _Break the tie to the world below_

The ashes stirred in their small circle, and the dispersed stones briefly rattled by the walls, but that was it.

"Hm," Cole said. "Maybe you should-"

"Uh, guys?" Penka interrupted him, calling from the top of the stairs. "Caza wants you up here. She's pissed. As usual."

When they reached the foyer, Caza asked, "Did you feel that tremor? Andras wasn't expecting that."

"You didn't know the guide got in, did you?" Cole said. "She did. Shortly before your arrival. But don't worry, we destroyed your whole set-up."

Andras looked genuinely relieved. He had obviously not been expecting to be trapped in the Manor when the earth swallowed it up.

Caza also visibly relaxed. "A guide was helping him? Why?"

"Many mortals are unhappy under Wyatt's reign," Andras said. "Some even make puny efforts to bring him down. This woman took the pitiful job as guide, looking for some chance to undermine him from within, and I offered her that chance. She took it."

"She carried out her part better than you managed to," Cole said.

"So now what do we do with him?" Chris asked. Crisis averted, his thoughts were already returning to his original problem: getting back to the past. "Not to mention--"

The earth itself interrupted him. This tremor, while only seconds long, was decidedly stronger than the first, rattling the chandelier, shaking pictures off walls. A mannequin in a superhero outfit toppled over.

When the shaking subsided, Andras spoke first, aftershocks felt in his voice. "It's too late. The connection from Underworld to Nexus to this house has been made. You can't stop it."

Caza rounded on Chris. "You heard him. Time to get out of here, now."

Chris ignored her, and addressed Andras. "You started this, make it stop."

"I. Can't."

Cole roughly pulled Chris away from the cage to face him. "I don't think we have a choice anymore. Andras can stay for as long as the crystals will hold him. Put the shield back in place as soon as we're out."

Chris shook his head. "Can you even imagine the effect this is going to have with the Nexus underneath? We have to stop this!"

"You think you can instantly come up with another spell to do that?" Cole spit out. "Your first one failed, but you're welcome to stay here and try again. Become the martyr you've always dreamed of being, and for nothing. But don't make the rest of us join you."

Another quake, stronger yet. Plaster dust rained down as everyone struggled to keep upright, grabbing walls and door frames. Andras shocked himself as he tumbled against the crystals' barrier.

Over the rumble, Caza shouted, "Open the shield!"

A crack began to split the floor of the Manor, forming at the base of the stairs where Penka had been clinging to a bannister. It split off, sending Penka to the ground, where his head banged on a step.

"Chris," Cole said. "Open the damn shield."

* * * *

Cole Turner stood at a window on a floor near the peak of the Pyramid and looked out over San Francisco. In the distance was a vast dark pit encircling the spot where the Halliwell Manor had stood.

Emergency vehicles had just begun to buzz above the area, but for blocks around 1329 Prescott Street, there was nowhere for them to land. They darted back to the edges of the abyss, where buildings were broken and fires flickered, but there was still the possibility of life. Not a chance of that at the epicenter, where there was nothing but unfathomable blackness.

Cole felt a presence next to him: Someone else was taking in the destruction.

A voice he had not heard in a very, very long time breathed, "Oh my God ..."

Cole turned toward that voice by his side. She did not notice him, her wide eyes fixed on the horror spread out before her. When he spoke, his own voice seemed to come from another time, a different life than this.

"Phoebe?"


	20. Chapter 20

The smell of roasting chicken wafted through the living room as Phoebe worked on a Power of Three spell to send Wyatt back to his own time -- a spell that would dodge directly referring to the one being sent. Perplexed, Piper had said Wyatt told her that Phoebe needed to tweak the spell and she would know why. Phoebe couldn't explain; she just sat down to get it done.

Neither Wyatt was here yet for this family dinner Piper was cooking up. Paige was supposed to go pick up the little one from day care -- wait, preschool, for now -- but for some unknown reason, Darryl had called her into the station. Probably one of those "raison d'être" missions of hers. In any case, little Wyatt had to wait. And grown-up Wyatt was late.

When grown Wyatt arrived, a second before he opened the front door, Phoebe's empathy power kicked in with force. She couldn't make sense of the tangled emotions; she just knew not a one of them was good. Anger at the world, at himself, fear, rage, the restlessness of a trapped animal. Phoebe jumped up and ran to the foyer; Piper was already there. Wyatt looked as bad as the emotions he was projecting -- grim and sleepless.

"Are you feeling okay?" Piper said, reaching up to touch his forehead. Phoebe felt him just barely contain a desire to flinch away.

"Maybe I'm coming down with something. I'll be fine once I get home. How's the spell coming, Phoebe?"

"Still working on it."

"Well," Piper said, "you're a little late, but that's okay -- we're waiting on Paige. She's supposed to be picking you up. Little you, that is." She turned to Phoebe. "If this goes on all week, they have to set up some way for me to get into Magic School. I guess we need the door back."

"Wait," Wyatt said, "Magic School?"

"Yeah, just temporarily. I took Wyatt to day care this morning, and was turned away -- the whole building was shut down because of a power outage. No one can figure out what's wrong or when it will be fixed." She sighed. "And, you know, your dad and I had already visited that magical preschool, and I couldn't see what else to do. Gideon gave permission, so that's where you're at for now."

Wyatt frowned. "What did--"

But he was interrupted by the sound of orbing.

"Paige!" Piper said. "Where's Wyatt? Oh, sweetie, what's the matter?"

If grown Wyatt had arrived for this dinner looking haggard, Paige looked positively shell-shocked. She swayed slightly, and Phoebe rushed to her side and took her arm. She and Piper led her into a chair in the sitting room, while Wyatt hung back, listening from the doorway.

"Darryl ..." Paige started, and choked.

"Something's happened to Darryl?" Phoebe asked.

Paige shook her head. "He called me in to tell me -- Richard's dead."

Gripping her sister's hand, Phoebe said, "Oh my God, what happened?"

"They don't know. They have no idea, they just ... This woman was found dead this morning in a junkyard in San Francisco -- her throat slashed." Paige shuddered and then continued: "She had Canadian ID on her, but Darryl says they have found no record of her even entering the country. They sent Canadian police around to her house and they found ... There was another dead body. A man. They sent a photo and Darryl recognized him. Richard. It was Richard." 

"Do they know what happened to him?" Piper asked.

"No, he was just dead. They have to do an autopsy. They found some blood on the floor, upstairs. But it wasn't Richard's. He didn't have any wounds. No ID, nothing on him. There was a dog in the house. In a kennel." Her voice seemed to be wandering now, lost.

"How ... how long had Richard been ..."

"Not long, they think. He died just a few hours before that woman was killed." Tears were now streaming down Paige's cheeks. "And Richard told us she was in danger. And now she's dead and he's dead, too. I told his brother, and Steve was trying to find him. We should have gone inside, Phoebe, I should have worried more about his safety than ..."

"Than respecting his wishes?" Phoebe said. "Paige, this is not your fault. Someone else out there is to blame for this. Not you."

A feeling like a steel door slamming shut jolted Phoebe. She had been so concentrated on Paige that she had taken no notice of the emotions coming off Wyatt -- until he forcefully blocked her. Their eyes met, and she recoiled at the cold threat she saw in his expression.

From the kitchen came the sound of a timer beeping. Piper, kneeling by Paige, did not move, but Paige said, "Oh, Piper, your dinner, I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about that. You don't have to eat if you're not hungry. You just rest here."

But Paige shook her head and began to pull herself to her feet, wiping tears. "I've got to go get Wyatt. No, it's okay. Having something constructive to do, even for a few minutes -- let me go get him for you."

Piper backed away, moving over to Wyatt. But Paige didn't orb to Magic School -- she seemed about to, then paused, looking to Phoebe. 

"Why did you say what you said about Cole?"

Still reeling from that look from her nephew, Phoebe didn't follow. "Cole?"

"You said, now you understood what I was going through, when I suspected Cole all those months. What did you mean? What do you know?"

"I ... I can't ..."

"What's the point of keeping silent now? Richard's dead. You didn't tell me everything, and now he's dead."

"Paige, you know me. You know I'd tell you everything I could. I _can't_ tell you any more than I did. Do you understand me?"

Paige did not look like she understood, or wanted to understand, at all, and Phoebe looked helplessly to Piper. But there next to her was Wyatt, and Piper, apparently reading meaning into that glance, frowned. 

Paige took a deep breath. "I'll be back soon." And now she did orb away.

"Phoebe, enough," Piper said, still ignoring that beeping timer. "What is this about? Just come out and say it."

Phoebe, now fighting back tears herself, shook her head, at a loss for words that would work.

"Don't you dare tell me, 'I can't.'"

"Piper, you _know_ something is wrong."

It was as close to out in the open as Phoebe could make it. But not close enough.

"Of course, something is wrong," Piper said icily. "Richard is dead."

The timer kept beeping, and Wyatt finally spoke. "I have to go."

"No, please stay," Piper said. "You don't have to go just because--"

"I'm only in the way and I can't help. Call me when that spell is ready."

Piper watched him walk out. She kept looking at the door, refusing to turn back to Phoebe, as she said, "You haven't trusted him from the day he arrived."

"No," Phoebe said quietly -- but aloud at least. "No, I haven't."

Still not looking at her sister, Piper said, "Dinner will be ready in a few minutes. It'll be overcooked." She stalked to the kitchen, and soon after, the timer was silenced.

Phoebe stood alone in the foyer, feeling as though the fears she couldn't express might crush her to dust right there. There was no one she could talk to about what she knew.

No, there was one person. And she didn't give a damn if he didn't want to talk to her. Ignoring the sound of orbing behind her -- Paige, returning with little Wyatt -- Phoebe bolted for the door, slammed it behind her, and ran down the stairs.

She spotted Wyatt walking down the street, in the direction of the bus stop that was a few blocks away, and she ran after him. If he heard her footsteps, he ignored them, but also didn't quicken his pace. Phoebe reached him, and he stopped when she grabbed his arm.

"Richard asked me for help," she said.

"I'm sorry that didn't do him any good."

"He told me more than I can actually say, so let's just cut the crap, okay? He said his powers had been restored, and it sounded like that was against his will. And one thing's for sure, he was not himself. I've seen possession before. So what did one have to do with the other? How did he know that Canadian woman would be killed? And how did he end up dead?"

"What do you want me to say?"

"Answer my questions!"

"What good would it do? You can't tell anyone."

"So help me, I will find a way to tell Piper and Leo what I know. I just hope the truth is not as bad as it seems. I want to believe there's a better explanation than the worst my imagination can come up with. And my imagination is coming up with some pretty horrible things right now."

"Phoebe, I've known you a lot longer than you've known me. That means I am very tired of this conversation. I've heard it all before. You'll talk me to death about how you think you understand me, after everything that happened with Cole Turner, and your stint as the Source's queen."

Until now, Phoebe hadn't considered this. However much good this unhappy connection had done her future self, she seized on it now. "Maybe I do understand," she said. "Because what happened then -- I chose evil over my family. And I struggled with it because I still cared about my sisters, missed them, wanted them in my life. Sound familiar?"

"No, because I didn't 'choose evil.' I know something about Cole Turner, and I know he was wrapped up in that pointless good-evil dichotomy as much as you are. Even when he was the Source, he chose 'evil.' He didn't get it. Neither of you got it, and Chris doesn't get it, for that matter. That's not a choice I need to make. What I've chosen is power."

"A person can't just choose power without choosing a way to use it."

"Phoebe!" Down the street, Piper's voice called sharply from the Manor's porch. Paige must have told her how Phoebe had walked out, and she was ready to rescue her son from harassment.

"Go on," Wyatt said. "Get to work on that spell to get me home. Then I won't be your problem anymore."

There was no sense in following him to the bus. Phoebe turned around and returned to the house. Piper was waiting on the porch, but they did not speak as they came inside. Phoebe went directly to the living room, where a Power of Three spell in Wyatt's handwriting sat on the coffee table, next to a notepad on which she had been trying to work out a variation that she could actually say. She stood there, staring down at the papers, trying to see a way out of this trap.

"Dinner is ready if you want it."

Piper was in the doorway, little Wyatt now in her arms. The wave of anger had broken, and now she simply looked weary.

"Sorry, I'm not hungry," Phoebe said, and Piper just nodded in response and left the room. Phoebe scooped up Wyatt's spell and the notepad, and headed upstairs.

Shut in her room, Phoebe sat on her bed late into the night, working. She didn't know if Paige or Piper was sleeping, but they kept to their own bedrooms. She saw no one when, somewhere in the wee hours of the morning, she came out of her room. She was finally hungry, and went to the kitchen to help herself to some cold leftover chicken. It was only a little overcooked -- certainly salvageable.

The food and change of scenery cleared her mind. Sitting at the kitchen table with her notepad next to her, she at last hit upon a solution, a spell that she was sure -- pretty sure -- would work. She overcame her eagerness to try it out right then; it was not a good idea at this hour, on no sleep. Better to get some rest -- she had a feeling she was going to need it -- and wait until morning.

When she came downstairs after a few hours of fitful sleep, she found Piper alone, looking like she was getting ready to head out.

"How late were you up working last night?" she asked Phoebe.

Phoebe, still in pajamas, leaned against the kitchen counter and yawned. "Way too late."

"Are you that eager to get rid of him?" Piper's voice was even, but Phoebe didn't trust that this couldn't explode into another one-sided argument with the slightest wrong word.

"I was actually working on something else. Is Paige up? How is she?"

"She's already gone. She took little Wyatt to Magic School and then off to one of those temp jobs."

"Are you kidding me? She's getting back on that kick today of all days?"

"Yes, she said she wants to keep busy, so she called the agency to see what they had. She did say that she was meeting Richard's brother later on. What about you -- don't you have to work?"

"Yeah ... I really need to finish this ... this thing I'm doing. So it's going to be yet another family emergency excuse."

"This thing you're doing -- should I be concerned?"

"No, it's ... it's just ..."

"You can't say." Piper picked up her purse and moved toward the front door.

"I'll see you tonight, okay?" _I hope_ , Phoebe added silently.

Once Piper was gone, Phoebe was ready to move, and after quickly showering and dressing, she went to the attic.

She formed a circle of candles on the floor and lit them, with great hope that they wouldn't burn the house down in her absence. If all went well, she'd barely be gone. Standing in the center of the circle, she fixed her mind unwaveringly on her target, though she could not speak his name, and recited her spell:

_Though I am silenced, with this rhyme_  
 _Let magic find a place and time._  
 _Seek a friend who is trusted near_  
 _Where help awaits, to bring it here._

A brief whirl of lights danced around her, and the attic vanished. Instead, Phoebe stood in front of a window that looked out on a scene of horror and devastation. She was high above a city -- it took her a moment to recognize that it was San Francisco, the spread of the city inland from downtown. She barely took in the damaged neighboring skyscrapers, for in the distance was a massive pit where buildings and roads should have been, bottomless dark radiating out for a mile or more from ... from ... her own neighborhood. Somewhere, at the bottom of that pit, was the Manor.

A whispered exclamation escaped her lips: "Oh my God..."

"Phoebe?"

She started and looked to her right. Not three feet away was the last person she had expected to see.

"What the hell are you doing here?" she asked.

"I live here," Cole said.

"You live ... You're not supposed to be _living_ at all." Big surprise, her spell had gone completely, utterly wrong.

Entering the room behind her, someone -- someone clearly unhappy -- was talking: "Caza's not here, and neither is Penka. I think she--"

No, bizarrely enough, her spell had gone completely right. With an inarticulate squeal of joy and relief, Phoebe launched herself across the room and threw her arms around an astonished Chris.

"Uh, Phoebe, how did you get here?"

"Spell!" she said as she released him. "I came up with a spell. It should get me back, too."

"How long has it been since you've seen me? How long has Wyatt been there?"

"Right, um. It's been almost three months since, since that girl Bianca came. What about ... what about here?"

"Since I last saw you? It's been a day."

"A day."

"Time travel," Chris explained. "If you--"

"Yeah, I don't want to know. I already have a little headache." Then she gave him a quick squeeze. "I'm just so happy to-- I can't even say how happy. I mean, I literally can't even say. Oh and--"

"Ow!" Chris said as she smacked his arm.

"That's for never telling us the truth."

"What truth?"

"Don't start with me. It's obvious what I'm talking about. I'm the only one who knows, thanks to -- can't say that either."

"She knows you're Piper and Leo's son," Cole said.

"Thank you, exactly," she said.

"You're welcome. Now" -- Cole swept his arm toward the window -- "can we skip the family drama and deal with the problem at hand?"

"And do what exactly?" Chris asked. "We failed."

"What happened here?" Phoebe asked.

"A demon, getting revenge on Wyatt. The demon's probably dead, for all the good it does us."

"It does us some good if we don't have to fight him for control of this city," Cole said.

Phoebe broke in again: "Revenge for what?"

Cole and Chris looked at each other.

"Don't," Chris said. "She comes from twenty-three years in the past, a past that's already getting screwed up enough, I'm sure."

After a glare, Cole turned away, toward the window. "Fine. Obviously, you've got such a good handle on all this. You decide what she gets to know."

"You know," Phoebe said, "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I want Cole to explain things to me."

But Chris spoke before Cole could: "The demon wanted revenge because Wyatt wouldn't join forces with him. I know, you're probably wondering, why would he--"

"No, I'm really not."

Chris's shoulders sagged. "That bad, huh?"

Phoebe looked toward the windows and the devastation beyond. "Not as bad as this. Not as bad as it could be -- no active powers. But bad enough. Two people are dead. Paige's ex-boyfriend Richard, and a woman, a stranger. Piper and Leo and Paige -- there's so much they don't know. But I'm caught in a bind. I can't tell anyone. So I came here ... I need help."

"You can't tell anyone?" Cole said. "Why?"

"Well, because --" Then Phoebe stopped and addressed Chris. "Hey, why is he here? My spell was supposed to take me to someone nearby, someone trusted by, by--" She tried to gesture toward Chris, but her arms wouldn't move right, and all she accomplished was a little flapping.

"By me?" Chris said.

"Yes. And I get him?"

Chris shrugged. "Your spell worked. You know I have a wide range of contacts. There are few I trust as much as I trust Cole. Or maybe he's the only one now, seeing as the two others I trusted most are both dead -- one killed yesterday and one, probably, just five minutes ago."

Cole looked a little smug at the affirmation, but the expression faded to one more properly somber as Phoebe narrowed her eyes at him.

"Phoebe," Chris said, "you haven't lost your voice, obviously. What is the problem?"

"There was a genie. She was actually a demon and there was a whole thing about setting her free, and it turned out anyone who set her free would get trapped in the bottle themselves, but that's not important. We got her back in the bottle. But while that was going on, I had just ... I had a ... I knew too much. And there was a wish, the genie granted a wish ..."

"Wyatt made a wish that you couldn't talk about him," Cole said.

"Yes! And also ..." 

"That you couldn't talk about me," Chris said.

"Oh, thank God. I haven't been able to explain what was wrong with me. It's been making me nuts. And I had to find some way to--"

She was interrupted by the arrival of a demon -- a small-statured female who shimmered into the middle of the room, coughing and slapping out a small fire on her sleeve. She looked up at Phoebe, Chris and Cole staring at her.

"Oh, Caza, you're safe, let me help you," she said sarcastically, mostly directing her words at Cole. Then she noticed Phoebe. "Hey, aren't you dead?"

Phoebe's eyes widened and she looked to Chris. "Am I?"

"Great, just great," Chris said.

"Phoebe, meet Caza, Wyatt's second-in-command in his bid for world domination," Cole said. "Caza, meet Phoebe, Wyatt's aunt. She's here from the past."

"I see. You came at a great time. If you're looking for your nephew, he's AWOL."

"What happened to Penka?" Chris asked.

Caza spread her arms, displaying her scorched clothing. "I went after him, but I lost him. There wasn't anything I could do, and I didn't see the point in plunging to my death along with him."

"And Andras?" Cole asked.

"Hopefully, somewhere in that black hole, gone for good. If he's not, that can be your problem, Turner." She had moved over to a desk, where she laid a small silver device next to a life-sized stone bust of ... oh my God, that was Wyatt, Phoebe realized, bleakly amused. Caza lifted the stone Wyatt by the sides of his head and brought him crashing down on the little device, which shattered, emitting a dark vapor as it did so. Then she said, "This second-in-command is out of here."

"And you're going where?"

"Anywhere but here when Wyatt gets back. I'm not sticking around to take the blame for this catastrophe, not to mention the fact that these two" -- she indicated Phoebe and Chris -- "are right here in the heart of his castle. If you're smart, Turner, you'll leave, too. But you are off the hook on being a spy. I won't be around to out you." She took a last glance at the smoking ruins beyond the windows and shook her head. "Good luck."

And she shimmered out.

"She's probably got the right idea," Cole said. "Phoebe, we should get you back to where you belong, where you're safe."

"I'm going with her," Chris said.

"Oh, we're back on that now, are we? You're going to disappear for months, again?"

"Cole, this is the reason I came here," Phoebe said. "I'm not here for sightseeing or reuniting with old exes, and I don't intend to go back alone."

"We can't just leave Wyatt in the past, you know that," said Chris.

"Because he can make things so much worse than this? Because you think he can still be saved?"

"No," Chris admitted. "I don't know. But I'm not going back there with the same plan. It's too late for that."

"What was that plan, by the way?" Phoebe said.

"I had information that around that time -- your current time -- evil got to Wyatt. Turned him. I was trying to prevent that. Change all this."

"And we can't prevent that? I mean, now that I know, and if we all knew--"

"I tried. I got nowhere."

"Then what is plan B, exactly?" Cole asked. "You'll drag him back here? Is that the best you've got?"

"Yeah, I may have to drag him back here. But maybe there's still a chance. To change him, even if there's no way to change all this. The key to it all -- we've got her right here. Phoebe, I need your help."


	21. Chapter 21

"This looks a lot different from when I was last here," Chris said.

Getting into Wyatt's personal quarters had been far easier than Cole had anticipated, since the guards had decamped. Chaos was bubbling up on the streets below, and whether the guards had left to deal with that, or simply fled to save their own skins, it didn't matter. With the door sealed, and the only elevator that reached these floors disabled (excepting Wyatt, even beings who could shimmer, blink or orb had to rely on that elevator), Phoebe, Cole and Chris were, temporarily at least, safe.

"When were you here?" Cole asked Chris.

"Right after Wyatt took over the building. Demons and workmen were swarming all over, moving out all the office furniture, getting ready to convert it into ... well, all this, I guess."

Wyatt had the top few floors of the Pyramid to himself, renovated to connect to each other via internal stairs and an open atrium that probably needed magic to keep the architecture structurally sound. All around was an odd combination of spacious, sterile design with antique cabinets in corners displaying weapons, potion paraphernalia, and sinister-looking artifacts. It was all familiar enough to Cole. While hundreds tramped through the Halliwells' former home, Wyatt had allowed very few to enter this place. Cole had been one of those few -- in fact, he had been yanked from the cosmic void into this very front room where Chris and Phoebe now gawked.

Chris continued, "I came on a kind of last-ditch, what-the-hell-are-you-doing attempt to talk sense into him. Wyatt had called me in to offer me a place to live. Gave me second choice of any floor in the Pyramid."

"And you turned him down," Cole said.

"I said I'd take the Manor or nothing. Obviously, nothing is what I got."

"The Manor ..." Phoebe echoed. "My sisters are dead, too, aren't they. I just can't imagine Piper, any of us, letting--" 

She gave Chris a look of pity, and he dropped his gaze to the floor, and that was her answer.

"They'd be here," she said. "And where's Leo in all this?"

"Leo's not much of a factor," Chris said.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I'd rather not talk about it."

But Cole elaborated: "The Elders have circled the wagons, protecting good magical beings, and that includes Whitelighters. Leo pokes his head in the real world probably more often than the Elders would like -- I'm sure it's risky to all of them. I've seen Leo more often than Chris has, come to that, because Leo sees Wyatt. And Leo thinks I'm -- well, not a true believer, but he thinks I'm an opportunist for evil. Much like Caza. On Wyatt's side because I want to be. It hasn't occurred to him that I'm a spy."

"It seemed safer to keep him in the dark," Chris said. 

"Gives him someone to blame, too. Oh, he knows Wyatt was way off path before I showed up, but I'm still a bad influence."

"And no one else suspects you?" Phoebe asked.

"Yeah, Caza's found me out -- but I know you mean Wyatt. As far as I know, he believes I'm loyal."

"You'd know if he didn't," Chris said.

"Somehow I don't think being loyal gets you a free pass into this place," Phoebe said.

"No, it doesn't. But I've been here by invitation -- on orders, that is -- a fair amount. Chris took advantage of that -- asked me to steal something that he and his friends could use to scry for Wyatt, keep tabs on him. And carrying out that job gave me the idea -- with each visit, inflict nearly undetectable magical weaknesses on security."

"You never told me you were doing that," Chris said.

"And you never told me you were trying to rewrite the timeline, so we're even. It was a contingency plan, for the day I -- or we -- would have a pressing need to get in here"

"Like today," Phoebe said.

"Exactly," Chris said. "We've got work to do."

" _I've_ got work to do," Phoebe reminded him. "And I don't even know how to do it. Is there something in the Book of Shadows about this?"

"I'm sure there was."

"Was?"

Chris sighed. "The Book is gone. Gone down with the Manor. We had to escape and ... it was in a different room. I couldn't get to it in time. I'm sorry."

Phoebe groaned and sank into one of the doubtlessly expensive but not all that comfortable chairs, leaned her elbows on her knees and buried her face in her hands. After a silent moment, she raised her head and told Chris, "Getting out alive was the right thing to do." She leaned over and patted a nearby chair. "I guess I need Whitelighter help. What am I supposed to do?"

Cole left them to it. He may have been in these quarters before, but never beyond that first-floor front room that served to receive guests. Time to explore farther. He prowled the rooms, inspecting the cabinets, rummaging through drawers and closets, and trying to concentrate on a defense plan in case Wyatt decided to reappear. But what would happen if Wyatt did try to return? The attic was gone. That could be the best they could hope for -- Wyatt returns to his time, and immediately meets his death at the bottom of that pit. 

Cole wasn't supposed to think like that -- he knew Phoebe and Chris wouldn't approve -- but someone had to be the realist here.

On the top floor, Cole found what had to be Wyatt's bedroom. Aside from that receiving area on the first floor, it was the largest room, simply furnished in a muted, dark-toned color scheme, the large bed by wide windows dominating half of it, with a single dresser and a long, high bookshelf crammed with old magical volumes. Open floor took up the other half, and weapons and other training equipment lined the walls around it. And there was another door. 

When Cole tried it, it didn't open into another closet as he expected. Actually, it might have been a closet, once, but a very large one. Now it was a very small room, unlike anything else in the place -- the inner, inner sanctum. Cole could root through it, but something told him he'd glean more with Chris along.

When he returned to the first floor, Phoebe was pacing and Chris was arguing.

"I know you can do this, Phoebe. I've seen you do it."

"Not yet. I'm not supposed to have this power yet, and getting pushed into it -- I probably never will."

"You're fighting it."

"Damn right I'm fighting it. I know what it can do. I've felt it."

"See? That's what I'm saying. If you've felt it, you already have it in you."

"If I have it in me, there's no way I can reach it here. If there was just somewhere to meditate, to find some quiet. But the energy in this place -- it's like the rooms themselves are screaming at me."

"Maybe I can help," Cole said.

They hadn't noticed him leaning against a doorframe on the sidelines, but now Phoebe threw up her hands.

"Having you lurking nearby isn't exactly calming."

"That's not what I meant," he said, straightening up. "I've found a room. Let me show you."

Phoebe looked doubtful, but she followed him upstairs anyway, with Chris tagging along. When they entered the bedroom, Chris said, "Yeah, I don't think--"

"Not this room," Cole said. "Over here."

Phoebe's shoes tapped on the hardwood floors of the open space as Cole led her to the door. And when she saw inside, she said softly, "Oh! This is ... this might do."

"What did I tell you?" Cole said.

Cole waited at the door as both Phoebe and Chris entered. The lack of windows almost added to its incongruously homey feel. No bright skyscraper sunlight would pour in here. Just lamps and a few pieces of worn furniture. In one corner was a potion-making setup. There was a stand waiting -- it would wait forever -- for the Book of Shadows. The little room was nothing like the Manor's attic -- not a bit of woodwork in sight, for one -- but it called the attic to mind all the same.

Chris touched one of the chairs. "This is the real thing. The furniture in the museum must be replicas, at least some of it."

"Museum?" Phoebe said. "This stuff is in the Manor right now. In my time."

"The Manor is -- was -- a museum," Cole said. "Wyatt opened it to the public."

Phoebe blinked and then looked to Chris, apparently for some explanation, but he was contemplating the empty stand. Then she said, "A museum. I honestly have no idea what to say about that."

"And you haven't even seen the exhibits," Cole said.

"I'm sure I don't want to know. But at least all this is here." She settled into a cushioned chair, just fitting into it sitting cross-legged.

Chris stepped up to the empty stand. "I want to try something." He recited:

_I call upon the ancient power_  
 _To help us in this darkest hour._  
 _Let the Book return to this place,_  
 _Claim refuge in its rightful space._

Nothing happened.

Chris shrugged. "It worked before. In the attic."

"Which would be its 'rightful space,'" Phoebe pointed out. "This may be the best room here, but it's still not home. Anyway, it's okay." She tapped her temple. "I have some spells stored away in here, too. Now, shoo. Give me some time alone."

She closed the door behind Chris and Cole, who worked their way back downstairs. Night was coming on, but they kept the lights low, like they were in a wartime blackout. The front room had a view of the ocean, and stretches of the shore were without artificial light, but were punctuated by flares of fire. It was still a better view than what was inland.

"What a world to come from, where the murders of two people is a catastrophe," Cole said as Chris joined him at the window.

"He could have done way worse in the past. But he didn't. I'll take what we can get."

"We got lucky. You heard what Phoebe said. He has no active powers back there. Nothing to do with any latent good nature in your brother -- which, by the way, is what this new plan of yours is entirely riding on. It's an even worse idea than your first."

"I have faith in Phoebe."

"Believe me, that's all I have faith in. I don't have faith in your brother, at no matter what age. Phoebe may discover powers she never knew she had, but if you're wrong about Wyatt, it won't do a damn bit of good. And if you're wrong, what she discovers could break her."

"If you have faith in Phoebe, you should have faith that she's stronger than that. She just needs to get in touch with it."

* * * *

Phoebe was failing to focus on meditating, her distracted mind unable to let go of the turmoil of the past twenty-four hours. She felt the presence of the wrecked city around her, while all over again, she saw Paige weeping, heard Piper's chilly voice, felt Wyatt's anger. A long-ago premonition forced its way to the surface: herself, her hands pressed to the sides of a man's head as she murdered him. She knew what Wyatt felt. She knew the rage. She also knew that buried in those roiling emotions that had assaulted her last night was the tiniest seed of regret. It was that, and only that, that made Chris's idea seem worth trying. But why did it have to be her, now?

She wished for help, she wished for her sisters, by her side in a way they couldn't be, not right now, and not back then.

Meditation had never been like this. Not the distracted mind -- that happened often enough. Not even the feeling that she was floating -- done that, too, but maybe not quite like this. Phoebe felt compelled to open her eyes. When she did, she was still seated cross-legged in the old Manor chair, but the small, windowless room was gone. There was no room at all, just airy whiteness and another chair opposite, a two-seater, one of the white wicker ones from the conservatory. And there, watching her, sat Prue.

For the second time that day, Phoebe rushed to give a family member a hug, this time jumping over to join Prue in the chair and throwing her arms around her shoulders, squeezing her, bringing their heads together, like in the old days.

"Where did you come from?" Phoebe exclaimed while Prue, laughing, scooted over to make room. "Wait, where am I? I was thinking of using the spell to summon the dead, but I hadn't tried it yet. So how..."

"Even without the spell, we could feel you reaching out -- which was weird, since you're dead, too," Prue said wryly. "But if you had tried the spell, it wouldn't have worked. It's been really difficult for the living to make that kind of connection, ever since ... well, it's been difficult."

"Circling the wagons," Phoebe mused, echoing Cole's words.

"That's one way to put it."

"Yeah, just something I heard. So, if I didn't even say the spell, the spell that won't work, how am I here? Where is here? Am I dead? I mean, me me, not the me in the future -- oh, this is so confusing."

"You don't look dead to me. You also don't belong to this time, which makes it a special situation. We've picked up a few tricks -- both Piper and I have been in places like this before -- and we decided it was time to take advantage of that. If we couldn't come to you, we'd find an out-of-the-way place to meet you halfway."

Phoebe half-expected that to be the others' cue to enter through the mist, but it remained just the two of them. She began, "But Piper and Paige..."

"It had to be just me. The timelines are getting kind of tangled. But, unlike them, I haven't been around to get tangled up in it."

"So, all this stuff I'm experiencing now, for Piper and Paige and, well, future me -- do we remember Chris and Wyatt being in the past?"

"Mostly not. But all three of you get flashes of something different. Sometimes, even I do. Like things are shifting, like new possibilities are just below the surface. This is good. This means there's still a chance."

"A chance for Chris's original idea? To save Wyatt from turning -- hey, how did I just do that?"

"Do what?"

"I'm talking about them. Do genies' wishes not apply here?"

Prue frowned, uncomprehending. "Uh, I don't know. It's not really the land of the living, so..."

"Whatever, I'll take it. Chris came back to the past to keep Wyatt from turning evil in the first place. We can still do that?"

"Maybe."

"Oh, I'm so glad to hear that. Because this plan B of his, I don't think I can do it."

"I don't think you should give up on plan B just yet."

"You know about that?"

"It's all that was in your head when you were reaching out to us."

"Then you know what Chris is asking me to do. And you know I've never used this power before. But I did have a premonition of myself killing someone with it. I burned at the stake for it, and we swore we'd never let that future happen, remember?"

"Do you love him?"

"What?"

"Do you love Wyatt?"

"Yes, of course I do. He's still my nephew."

"Then you won't kill him."

"But I'm scared of him. And even if I can do this, how can it make a difference? When he's not shutting me out, I can feel his emotions, and ... oh, Prue, he's so unhappy. Tormented. I'm overwhelmed by it, and then I bring my own fear into it? We'll both drown. I love him, I do, but--"

"I can't promise you this will save him. I wish I could. But I can promise you that if you love him -- _because_ you love him -- you won't kill him. Your power doesn't work that way. Do you think you'd have Piper's blessing if it did? But you do have her blessing, and Paige's, and mine. Forget what you saw in that premonition -- you know that future didn't happen. You wouldn't have been given this power if it couldn't be used for good."

"But I _haven't_ been given it. Not yet."

"You've already got the empathy power, and that means you've got it in you. I'm here to help you find it."

"Not that it's not completely amazing to see you," Phoebe said, giving Prue another hug to emphasize the words, "but wouldn't the older me, the one who's supposedly used this power for good -- wouldn't she have been the best person for the job?"

"She gave me some tips. But according to her, her big sister is the best person for the job."

Phoebe couldn't help but smile at Prue's expression, so familiar, so long missed, at once affectionate and just a little bit self-satisfied. 

"Okay," Phoebe said. "Who am I to argue with myself?"

* * * *

Cole and Chris waited. They raided the refrigerator and ate, saving some food for Phoebe. Cole wandered the rooms some more, this time with Chris, who recognized various objects from the Manor and Magic School -- and other places. He pointed out one athame in particular: "Of course, he'd still have that. He showed it to me when we were kids. Stole it right from under the Elders' noses, and he was only ... eleven? twelve?"

Neither of them tried to sleep. Chris said he hadn't slept the night before, and it looked like this night would be no different. 

Cole wondered if Phoebe had fallen asleep. Could someone really meditate for this long?

At last, she reappeared. She found them where they had settled on the second floor, in a landing that opened up into a seating area with more comfortable chairs than in the front room below. Chris had curled up with some old grimoire he had pulled from a shelf, while Cole had taken a spot by the balcony, keeping an eye on the entrance below.

"Okay," Phoebe said, announcing her presence and jolting them out of their private thoughts, "I'm ready to do this."

"Good meditation?" Chris asked.

"Best ever. I conjured myself a little pep talk. She believes I can do it so--"

"She?"

Phoebe patted Chris's arm, but didn't explain. "I definitely feel a little less worried that I could kill--" She pressed her lips together, unable to continue. "Great, can't say that name anymore." She raised her eyes to the ceiling and said, "You couldn't have let me carry that back to the real world?" She waved off Chris's perplexed reaction and continued, "The point is, I'm not as worried that this power is deadly. Apparently it doesn't have to work that way."

"That's what I was telling you," Chris said.

Phoebe glanced over at Cole as he stood up from his chair, before she said to Chris, "To get back, we're going to need candles."

Chris took the hint. "There's got to be candles in this place somewhere. I'll go dig some up."

"Enough to make a circle," she called after him as he headed upstairs.

"There's food down in the kitchen if you want any," Cole said.

"That's okay. I ate dinner so late it was almost breakfast. And breakfast wasn't that long ago for me." She put fingers to her temples. "Getting that time travel headache again."

"And you're too nervous to eat."

"Yes," she admitted. "I understand now that this power doesn't have to be a weapon, but I'm still working on not being afraid." Phoebe evidently caught something in his eyes, because she said, "I get the feeling that's what you would want, for it to go wrong, that I might kill--."

"No, Phoebe, if only because of what it would do to you. But don't expect me to feel much concern over Wyatt's welfare. Not after he-- not after everything that's happened. Tell me, how did Piper and Leo manage to screw up this badly?"

"I don't have an answer. But if some evil got to..." She trailed off. Cole knew she could read his skepticism, and she couldn't complete the thought anyway, so she shook her head and just said, "Whatever went wrong, I haven't seen it yet. And apparently I won't see it, at least not this far into the future -- where I'm dead and you're alive."

"And your nephew's responsible on both counts." When her eyes got big at that reveal, Cole added, "Don't tell Chris I told you that."

"I can't."

"Something else he's responsible for."

"Are you trying to get me to give up?"

"I'm trying to remind you to not let your expectations get too high. You've been through this before. You should know better. Both you and Chris. Do you know that Wyatt killed Chris's fiancée yesterday? Chris called me to come cremate her body."

"Bianca?"

"So you know about her. She's dead, and he still won't give up."

Phoebe turned away, toward the windows that looked out over the ocean. 

Cole followed her and said more gently, "If Chris gets Wyatt back here, where he belongs and out of your time, you should have years of a good life before the world gets like this. You could live that life, enjoy it, and let us deal with whatever happens here and now. You deserve that much."

"I can't let it go, and just do nothing. I can't give up either. Not this time. Not while there's still a chance."

"Must have been one hell of a pep talk."

"It was. But it's not just that. On a day when I most needed a reminder that people can change, I got living proof."" Phoebe regarded him for a moment, and then said with a smile that was almost gentle, "I have a message for you. Prue says hello. And she says she'll see you around."

"Prue? That's not really encouraging. She's dead."

"And so am I, so are you, but here we are. I don't know what she meant. She didn't know what she meant -- it was just a sense she got. She thinks this future could still change. That there's still a chance."

"Right. I wasn't buying that Chris has given up on his original plan, and I see you haven't either. Do you even know what you're supposed to change?"

"Not yet."

Could it happen? Cole didn't believe it, but still ... If he was going to be Phoebe's source of hope here, however unlikely that was, he might as well go all out.

"Look," he said, "suppose you manage to pull it off. You've saved the future, you're certain Wyatt won't turn evil this time. Do me a favor. Don't try to save me."

"Save you?"

"I'm only here today because Wyatt pulled me from the cosmic void. If he doesn't go the evil overlord route, he's got no reason to do that, and I could be stuck there forever. That was probably my destiny all along, and I had accepted my fate. But Chris might not agree. He might try to leave Wyatt's summoning spell with you. Don't use it."

"Maybe getting pulled back here was part of your fate, too."

"Maybe. But that happened years after where -- when -- you are now. I need that time."

"Time for what?"

"Time to get some things done -- with the help of a friend who's going to need my help himself. I don't want to leave him in the lurch. And maybe, in a better world, he and I can make a lasting difference this time around."

"And how long will this take?"

"Five years should be more than enough. Unless," he added, "Prue comes and gets me first."

"What about Prue?" Chris said as he descended the stairs, arms laden with mismatched candles and a lighter.

"She gives a good pep talk," Phoebe announced as she relieved him of the candles.

Chris gave one of his rare, quick grins, and with a flick of his hand, shoved aside a chair to create an open space for Phoebe's circle. "You're talking to the nephew who has the same power as hers. When I was a kid, I got coaching once."

 _Someday in the past, the future ... it'll be my turn?_ Cole wondered as he watched Phoebe place and then light the candles. _Prue, of all people._ Then again, while Phoebe had delivered Prue's message like it was a friendly greeting, Cole wasn't so sure he should take it that way. This was Prue, after all. They had never been the best of friends.

It was still dark outside, and lights inside dimmed, but Phoebe's candles cast a warm glow. 

"Time to go," she said to Chris.

He stepped into the circle of candles, but Phoebe walked up to Cole and took his hands in hers. "Thank you for looking after..."

"Chris? He needs looking after."

She chuckled. "Don't I know it."

"Hey!" Chris protested. "Who's the one who--"

"Shush," she said.

Chris did stop talking, but only to make a more nonverbal expression of affront.

Phoebe ignored it as she let go of Cole's hands and pulled a sheet of paper from her pocket. She joined Chris in the circle and said, "Keep hold of me."

Chris took Phoebe's arm, and said to Cole, "See you soon. If not -- thanks for everything."

Cole nodded and stepped back. He met Phoebe's eyes, one last time, before she held up the paper and read:

_Magic that took me to this place_  
 _And helped me find a trusted face,_  
 _Now it is time to take me home,_  
 _Voiceless no more and not alone._

A whirl of lights, and they were gone. Cole, in the silence of this vast, dark place, knelt to extinguish the candles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: As some readers might recognize here, I'm borrowing some bits from the "Season 9" Charmed comics. If you haven't read them, don't worry -- they don't play a major part in this fic, and you won't need to have read them to follow the plot.


	22. Chapter 22

When the sparkling lights subsided, Chris and Phoebe found themselves standing in the attic, the quiet, calm, not-swallowed-up-by-the-earth attic. A circle of candles surrounded them here as in the place they had left behind, and Phoebe knelt to inspect one.

"I'm guessing I've been gone about twenty minutes or so? Don't tell Piper I left the timeline with candles burning unattended," she added as she blew them out.

"So," Chris asked, "where's Wyatt? Little Wyatt, in this case."

"Magic School."

That answer surprised him. When Chris was last here, they didn't even seem to be aware that the school existed. "They're sending him to Magic School now?"

"Only temporarily. It's too not-normal for Piper. But the regular day care has been without electricity for a few days now -- complete blackout, and they haven't traced the problem yet. So, Magic School."

"Don't you think that's a little strange? Hey, don't give me that look."

"What look?"

"Like, _Oh, there's Chris being paranoid again_. You've seen my future, and I have damn good reason to be paranoid."

"There is such a thing as faulty wiring, you know. But if demons cut off the electricity to day care, their plan has hit a snag. Magic School couldn't get much safer."

"I suppose we can't just keep him there the rest of his life?"

Phoebe gave him another "look" in response and held out her hand. "Magic School," she ordered. "I can't get there on my own."

Chris could get into the school with no problem, but he didn't know exactly where the preschool was -- not a place he had ever frequented. He and Phoebe wandered the endless corridors for a bit before finally encountering a gaggle of students who pointed them in the right direction to Mrs. Winterbourne's classroom.

They found her flustered. The room was overrun with balloons, which didn't seem like such a good idea with all these little ones. She and some other teacher were attempting to round the balloons up when Phoebe entered. Chris hung back by the doorway and scanned the room for Wyatt among the kids. Some were delighted, jumping among the balloons; others were crying; others steadfastly went about their business of coloring or playing with toys. But nowhere among them did Chris see Wyatt.

"Phoebe?" Chris said, but Mrs. Winterbourne had already noticed her and drawn her attention away.

"Oh, Ms. Halliwell," the teacher said, pushing hair out of her face. "Are you here for Wyatt? We weren't expecting anyone until late afternoon."

"Yes, but I decided to take the day off work and thought I'd ..." Phoebe trailed off, probably unable to complete the sentence, but she, too, was searching amid the toddlers and balloons for Wyatt. "Where ...?" she started.

Chris stepped up to help her. "Where's Wyatt?"

"I'm sorry, who are you?" Mrs. Winterbourne asked.

"I'm the Charmed Ones' Whitelighter. Where is Wyatt?"

She looked around the room. "Oh no, not again. He must have left during all the pandemonium. Somebody in here conjured all these."

"Excuse me, he left?" Chris asked.

"Orbed out. He's a bit of an escape artist that way. Don't worry -- he can't leave Magic School. Piper warned us he might do this, and so Gideon set it up to keep him within the school, at least."

"Why not just within this room?"

"I don't know. I suppose Gideon has some reason. Now we usually--"

But before she could finish her thought, Wyatt orbed into the middle of the room, wailing. Phoebe rushed over to pick him up, and he kept on crying as he clutched her neck and she tried to soothe him.

Mrs. Winterbourne said, "There's one problem solved. Is he all right?"

"I think so," Phoebe said, patting Wyatt's back. "Probably just hungry."

When Mrs. Winterbourne immediately turned back to corralling the chaos, Phoebe gave a jerk of her head toward the door, and Chris followed her out in the hallway. Something was not sitting right with him, and he couldn't put his finger on it. A toddler crying, no big deal, but ...

It hit him as Phoebe put her hand out to be orbed home.

"He's not putting his shield up," Chris said.

"No." Phoebe shrugged, as best she could with Wyatt's arms around her neck, and her expression communicated, "Why would he?"

"When I came to the past, he put his shield up around me. He always has, from the very beginning. He thinks I'm a threat. I don't know why he'd change his mind now."

Quieting down, Wyatt sniffled and stared at Chris. Phoebe finally opted for saying, "Absence makes the heart grow fonder? I don't see this as a problem."

She held out her hand again, and Chris took it -- still half-expecting to be blasted back by the shield at any moment, like maybe the kid was baiting him. But nothing of the kind happened, and they orbed back to the Manor.

Phoebe took Wyatt down to his bedroom to spend some time with him while he settled down for a nap. Chris stayed in the attic. Wyatt's shield might be down around him, but that didn't mean he trusted Chris or felt safe around him, and they had to nurture those feelings for this plan to have any chance. 

Instead, Chris flipped through the Book of Shadows, and found it -- that Power of Three spell that could have vanquished Andras, for all the good it had done. He had accepted he couldn't change Wyatt by changing history. _But what about ..._

The past few days had drained Chris of hope, but a kind of recklessness was filling the void. Not so far as to write in the Book, but he found a slip of paper and scribbled a note:

"Major attack on San Francisco planned for 2026. Find and vanquish before then."

He read over his words, and then took the pen to the page again, adding an insert after "San Francisco" that said, "and Kansas City."

If only they'd "find and vanquish" while there was still a Power of Three ... but that was the catch. In his first attempt to ally with a demon, Wyatt would set up that meeting with Andras, and Andras would kill Phoebe and Paige well before he'd pop up in Kansas City. Why would they find and vanquish him before then, let alone before Piper's death when Chris was fourteen?

He internally berated himself: Here he was, back in the past and, right away, he found himself on autopilot, playing the same old demon whac-a-mole game. Nothing had come of that when he had sent the sisters chasing his leads for months, in hopes of preventing Wyatt's turn to evil. _But that's not the plan anymore,_ Chris told himself one more time. _Stop acting like you can change anything. The new plan is to work with the future we've got -- and with the Wyatt we've got._

He crumpled up his note and stuffed it in his pocket as Phoebe entered the room, yawning.

"It's nap time down there. I could do with a nap myself," she said.

But Chris was all business. "Okay. What are we going to do?"

"Oh, the sympathy here."

"You don't think I'm tired? Because I am. But I don't want to hang around here for months again. I can't take it."

"Twenty-four hours, a few days, is not 'months.' A little rest wouldn't hurt and I'm not talking about myself. Not to mention my original plan, which seems to have been forgotten: talk with Piper and Leo. The kind of talk I can't have alone. Why can't two plans go together? Getting their backup and moral support wouldn't hurt."

"I'm not discussing this with them. No, absolutely not."

"Why not?"

"Because they won't believe me. Did any of you ever really trust me?"

Phoebe opened her mouth, then closed it. Even though Chris knew she was trying to work her words around the wish binding her, he barreled ahead like her silence was an answer.

"Exactly. You didn't. Piper and Leo least of all. Leo, really least of all. And let me guess: Wyatt told them not to trust me." This time, Phoebe's silent expression actually did confirm his suspicion, and Chris continued, "So I'm going to reappear and tell them their son is ruler of all evil in the future and a murderer twice over in the past. What makes you think that will work?"

Phoebe managed a one-word answer: "Family."

"Do you know that Leo specifically told me that I'm not family?"

"No, I didn't. But calling him 'Dad' instead of 'Leo' might be a start."

Chris chose to ignore that suggestion. "Speaking of that," he said, "I've been so distracted by everything that's been going on, I haven't brought it up. But you said a few months have passed here? I should have been conceived by now, and I was kind of worried I wouldn't be, seeing as..."

"Seeing as Piper and Leo broke up when Leo became an Elder?"

Chris didn't need to hear her add "because of you" aloud -- he got the message.

"Yeah, well, I'm still standing here. So, did they get back together?"

"Not permanently, no. But long enough so that ... so that Piper's been gaining weight lately."

"Does she know she's pregnant?"

"As of a few days ago, yes."

"But she doesn't know it's me."

"No."

"What about Leo?"

"He doesn't--"

The sound of orbing interrupted them: Little Wyatt, clutching a small blue blanket, appeared at Phoebe's side, and she gave an exasperated sigh -- and then she froze, as did Chris, at the sound of a door on the second floor flung open with force. 

A male voice called from below. "Wyatt? Wyatt!"

It was Wyatt as well -- grown Wyatt, calling for himself.

"Oh my God..." Phoebe whispered, and Chris heard a shiver of fear.

"Stay calm," he said, though he felt anything but. "If he comes up here -- can you do this? Now?"

Phoebe crouched down to little Wyatt's level and wrapped him in an embrace, as she took a deep, calming breath. Then she nodded to Chris and carried Wyatt to the attic's playpen, coaxing a smile from him as she did so. Whatever was going on -- thankfully, he seemed not too distressed.

They heard footsteps on the stairs, nearing the attic. Standing next to the playpen, Phoebe took another deep breath and faced the door. Chris moved off to the side, toward the windows. Phoebe had gathered her courage just as he was feeling it slipping away while those footsteps drew nearer. As far as backup and moral support, he was it, and it didn't seem like enough.

The door opened, and there was Wyatt. He looked the same, but there was something indefinably lessened about him, something harrowed. If he was not himself, was that good or bad? Would it make this go horribly wrong? Phoebe's power could, in fact, kill; of course, it could. Chris had seen her use it on demons many times -- he just chose not to emphasize that when he had been convincing her this was a good idea.

As the dreadful possibilities ran through Chris's head, Wyatt only seemed to take in Phoebe and his younger self. 

"Phoebe," Wyatt said. "Why isn't he at -- never mind, I don't care. You should call Mom."

He moved in her direction, toward the playpen, where toddler Wyatt held himself up, grasping the bars, unafraid -- so he hadn't been running away from the older version of himself, at least. But Phoebe stepped up to block the way between the two Wyatts.

"Phoebe. Let me have him."

"Why?"

"Because I was just downstairs with him, and I sensed a--" His eyes swept the room, for some unnamed threat, perhaps, and then his eyes finally alighted on Chris. "What the hell."

"Hello, Wyatt."

"I swore I'd get help," Phoebe said. "And I did."

" _Him_? What do the two of you think you're going to do?" Then he shook his head. "Forget it, I don't have time for this. Go ahead and find Mom and Dad, tell them everything, I don't care. I'm just here for him."

Phoebe backed up to the playpen, where she took little Wyatt's hand while warily eyeing the older version.

But that Wyatt was standing still, his gaze again searching the room, like he was trying to catch something out of the corner of his eye. But he stopped when he locked eyes with Chris.

"Once this is over, I'll deal with you."

"Without active powers?"

"So that's how you think you can get the upper hand? Back off. I'm not here for you. Phoebe, that job I was doing for Gideon? He sent me to find an athame. I got it for him, but I found out what it does, and--"

Now he was striding over to her, or to his little self, but he didn't make it. Chris raised a hand and threw a blow of telekinesis that knocked Wyatt down, skidding him across the floor, away from the playpen, until he collided with a wooden chair.

Wyatt tried to rise. Once he got halfway to his feet, Chris sent another blast that roughly flung him into the chair.

"Hey!" Phoebe yelled. "This isn't helping."

"Still, it's kind of satisfying." 

Letting the telekinetic force hit Wyatt in the chest, Chris shoved both the chair and its occupant back. The chair cracked as it slammed into a wall, and assorted clutter -- an empty picture frame, a small lamp -- fell on Wyatt.

Phoebe tried again: "Stop it! Let me put it this way: It's actively hurting the cause."

Chris wanted to tell Phoebe to save it, tell her what Wyatt had put him through in the past few days alone, tell her that Wyatt was damn lucky Chris was letting him live. But when he threw a look over his shoulder at her, he understood what she was getting at. If a person could pointedly hold a child's hand -- a child she couldn't even directly refer to -- Phoebe was pointedly holding little Wyatt's. The toddler was staring, wide-eyed, at the tumult across the room.

"This is not why I'm here," Phoebe said.

Chris let his hand drop. 

The grown Wyatt coughed and pushed himself out of the chair. "We're wasting time," he said, his breath a little short. 

"What do you think you're doing?" Chris asked. "You're going after him now? What for? It's not enough to be ruler of all evil? You don't have enough power in the future, and you have to use your own baby self to get more?"

"I'm trying to protect him, since no one else seems to be doing it."

Chris couldn't have pinpointed what put him on alert. Did he feel the slightest breeze of movement nearby? Hear an infinitesimal creak of a floorboard? Or just intuit an unknown presence? The very moment that Chris frowned, cocked his head to find the fleeting sound, if sound it was -- that moment, Phoebe, after lightly caressing the top of baby Wyatt's head, moved in.

She reached up and grasped the sides of grown Wyatt's head. Light sparked from her hands -- not as forcefully as when Chris had seen her use the power on demons, but still, she was new to it. Wyatt's whole body seized up, making his efforts to free himself futile. Little Wyatt had stopped fidgeting and watched them with wide eyes. At least he didn't look freaked out. It was the best they could hope for. 

But Chris himself was plenty freaked out. The fear for Wyatt's life was now overlaid with this horribly familiar sight that brought up afresh the memory of Bianca's attack on Wyatt. Bianca, behind him, as Phoebe was now, but with her hand plunged in his back -- before he violently broke free and killed her. Chris had a sudden urge to intervene, to stop this for Phoebe's sake, but before he could act on that urge, the two began to levitate. With his feet off the ground, Wyatt seemed to be losing the will or ability to resist, not even close to breaking free. But he was still conscious.

With no idea if Wyatt could hear or if it would even make a difference if he could, Chris told his brother, "Whatever happened to you, if we can't stop it, you need to remember who you were before it happened. And maybe find that again."

When Phoebe finally released Wyatt, they both dropped to the floor and collapsed. For a wild second, Chris thought they were both dead, but Wyatt pushed himself up to his knees before doubling over and groaning, "What did you do to me?"

Phoebe still hadn't moved. Only little Wyatt seemed to have come out of this unscathed.

Chris took a step toward them, toward Phoebe and both Wyatts, but got no farther. A wave of invisible power blasted him back, hurling him into the podium holding the Book of Shadows. Chris, the podium and the Book came crashing down, and the wind got knocked out of him as his back landed on the podium's wooden edge, cracking it off its base.

Now Chris himself was struggling to get up, but whatever force had knocked him down was pressing on him. He heard noises of struggle, but all he could see was ceiling and the top of colorful windows, the sun blazing through. Finally, with some effort, he raised his head enough to see Wyatt, the little one, in the arms of ... that couldn't be. But when the man disappeared in a swirl of purple orb lights, Chris knew who it was. Gideon -- Elder, old Magic School headmaster, and their father's friend.

As soon as Gideon and little Wyatt were gone, the force holding Chris back eased and vanished, and he saw Phoebe stirring, too. Grown Wyatt, on the other hand, had collapsed again.

"What -- what -- Gideon? What the hell just happened?" Phoebe said, staring open-mouthed at the empty playpen.

Then Phoebe noticed the grown Wyatt on the floor and gasped.

"You both kind of fainted," Chris said.

"And this?" Phoebe said, crawling over to Wyatt.

That was when Chris saw it. Wyatt wasn't unconscious -- his eyes were screwed up in pain, and he was holding his hands to his side, where blood was seeping through.

Chris rushed over to them. Wyatt rolled onto his back and tried to sit up, with another groan of pain far sharper than the first.

"We need, we need ..." Panic was edging into Phoebe's voice. "Heal!"

"I can't heal."

"It's not like he'd want to ..." Wyatt managed to get out.

"Shut up," Chris told him. "We need Leo."

Phoebe obliged: "Leo! Leo!"

As she called to the ceiling, Chris stumbled to his feet and backed into a corner, as if he could shrink out of sight. When Leo did appear, wearing Elder's robes and a blissed-out expression, he did not notice Chris any more than Wyatt had before. His attention was immediately drawn to Phoebe, who was silently flapping her hands by -- if not exactly at -- Wyatt, who was again struggling to sit up.

Leo snapped out of that Elder facade in an instant, kneeling next to his son and sending healing light to the wound just below Wyatt's ribcage.

The wound didn't seal up, and the blood didn't go away. Wyatt shoved at Leo's hands.

"Can't heal it. Can't ..."

"Shhh," Leo said, and asked Phoebe, "What happened?"

"I ... uh ..." In her distress, Phoebe seemed to have lost any means to communicate, to work around the wish-created clampdown on her voice.

"Phoebe! Who did this?"

Wyatt, half managing to sit up, extended an arm -- it could have been pointing, could have been beckoning, but it drew Leo's eyes to where Chris stood against a wall.

"You," Leo said.

Chris instinctively drew back farther at the rage he saw in Leo's eyes. Phoebe scrambled to her feet as Leo did the same, and, grabbing his arm, she found her voice.

"No, no, no! Leo! I was here. That's not what happened!"

"Come. Here." Wyatt's voice was suddenly clear, and directed at Chris.

Chris approached cautiously, not knowing what to expect from him or from Leo, who was, just for now, letting Phoebe hold him back. When Chris knelt down beside his brother, Wyatt said, "My jacket. In the baby's bedroom. It's got a potion bottle ... get it." His voice was losing strength again.

Chris didn't know what this was about, but he obeyed -- what else was there to do? He orbed downstairs to little Wyatt's bedroom.

A dark gray jacket lay across the bars of the crib. His hands shaking, Chris pulled several potion bottles of varying sizes from its pockets. He recognized one small vial as an all-purpose demon-killer he and Wyatt had come up with, back when they had done that kind of thing together. The others were a mystery. Clutching all of them, and the jacket as well, he orbed back upstairs.

Phoebe was on the phone, apparently to Paige: "Get Piper and come back home, orb to the attic, now. No questions, just do it."

Leo had returned to Wyatt's side on the floor and once again was trying to heal the wound, with no more success. Chris stood over them with the potion bottles and the jacket, unsure what to do.

"Dad," Wyatt said, and made a weak pushing gesture. "Move."

Leo stood and backed off, folding his arms, making it clear he was ready to intervene if Chris made one wrong move. 

When Chris offered the bottles, Wyatt knocked aside the smaller vials and indicated the largest -- it held maybe four or five ounces.

"Open," he said, and Chris pried out its tightly sealed cork and handed it over. 

When Wyatt tried to bring it to his lips, Chris helped prop his head up and Leo decided to speak.

"How do you know he hasn't tampered with that?"

But Wyatt ignored him and took a sip, just a tiny one, then closed his eyes, and clenched his fists. After that, he sat up -- with a grunt of pain, but he sat up on his own. Now upright, he took another tiny sip without Chris's help, waited, and then addressed Leo. "It's my bottle, Dad. He didn't tamper with it in the thirty seconds he was downstairs."

"It seems to have worked -- you sound better. But that wound, it's still bleeding. Tell us what happened, then we'll figure out a way to--"

"Gideon."

"What?"

"Gideon did this. That job for him -- he sent me to find an athame that he meant to use on me."

Leo didn't look disbelieving -- just very confused. "What? Why would he want to kill you?"

"Not this me."

Chris pointed at the playpen. "Leo, I saw it happen."

"You stay out of this," Leo said.

"Listen to me. Gideon kidnapped your son."

"I saw it, too," Phoebe said. "It doesn't make sense, but--"

Wyatt took another sip of his potion, and this time made it to his feet, saying as he did, "I'm going to get him back." 

"But you can't, you're hurt," Leo protested.

Wyatt stood straighter, taking his jacket out of Chris's hands, replacing his potion bottles in the pockets, and putting the jacket on. He didn't quite suppress a wince as he moved his arms into the sleeves. But he said, "Looks like the potion is doing the trick."

"Your mother should be here any minute and we can--"

"I know where he is. I just need help to get there. Not you," he said as Leo opened his mouth to speak again. "Him."

"Chris? But you yourself said he can't be trusted."

"Yes, I did. And he proved it today -- him and Phoebe. I tried to warn them. I told them little Wyatt was in danger, that I was here to protect him. And instead of listening, instead of helping me, they rendered me helpless. That makes this his fault. So, I think he owes me."

At that moment, Paige and Piper orbed in. Before they could even speak, Wyatt said to Chris, "Are you ready?"

"Yeah." Chris took Wyatt's side, feeling his mother's stunned gaze and father's suspicious glare.

Wyatt told them all, "Phoebe can explain. Eventually."

"Where are we going?" Chris asked.

"Just get me to the Underworld. I'll find my way from there."


	23. Chapter 23

Chris let go of Wyatt's arm after they orbed into a dark corridor of the Underworld, but grabbed it again when Wyatt wobbled a bit. Wyatt flinched away from Chris's help and instead leaned against a nearby rock wall.

"Are you sure you're up to this?" Chris asked.

"I'll be fine. And I've got this." He still held the potion bottle, and he took another sip.

"What is that stuff?"

"The main reason I stayed in the past for so long -- to make this potion. In the future, I have a rogue Whitelighter or two on my side, but they can't heal." He shrugged. "No love in them. Certainly no love for me. And it's not like I can call on anyone else if I get injured. So I invented this potion to do the same thing."

"You could always call Leo, you know that."

"No, I can't. You don't get it. I invented this potion when I was a teenager -- I knew even then I could only rely on myself."

"Why'd you have to make it here in the past? What's in it?"

"You don't want to know." Seeming rejuvenated, he pushed himself off the wall. "Now, go on back home, wherever that is. The P3 storeroom? Seriously?"

"I'm not leaving you. You can hardly stand up."

"You think so? Watch me walk away from you." He did just that.

Chris followed. "I'm helping you rescue him. This is why I came here to the past."

"Funny, I thought this time around you came here to help Phoebe attack me."

"She didn't attack you. She used her power to connect you to who you used to be. To let your younger self show you--"

"Show me what?" Wyatt stopped and faced Chris. "How to love and trust? He doesn't trust you."

Chris knew that was true, but he said, "He didn't put his shield up around me today."

"Do you know why? Because he can't. Gideon's got an athame that can pierce and destroy the shield and I'm guessing he'd already used it. If not, he's used it by now."

"Gideon ..." Chris considered. "At Magic School, when Phoebe and I went to pick you up -- little you -- there was a distraction in the preschool and he was briefly missing. And another weird thing was what happened to the regular day care."

"You noticed that, too, huh? I'm thinking Gideon got Wyatt into Magic School and got his hands on him long enough to break the shield before Wyatt escaped. So maybe my younger self wasn't in the most trusting and loving mood when Phoebe tried to pour his emotions into me." He grimaced and briefly touched his side. "But I haven't killed you yet, so maybe she did soften me up."

"Great. Are you trying to get me to leave you down here?"

"Yes. I thought I made that clear."

Chris grabbed Wyatt's arm and pulled him around to see his face. "Then let me make it clear: no. I'm not leaving your toddler self alone down here, his only rescuer being someone wounded and with no active powers. Got it?"

Whether Wyatt would respond with more arguments, a debilitating spell or a punch, Chris held his ground under his fierce gaze. 

Then Wyatt simply said, "Let's go then."

As they moved along the corridors, Chris asked, "How can your potion heal that wound when Leo couldn't?"

"It's not healing me."

"Not yet, not completely, but you are getting better."

"No, I'm not. The potion's not meant to be taken internally. A few drops on an injury, and it works like a Whitelighter's hands. But I took a chance that swallowing some would hold off the inevitable."

"What's inevitable?"

"Gideon's athame causes unhealable wounds. Whitelighter magic, human medicine, nothing can help me."

"You don't know that. How can you know?"

"Because I did my research -- unfortunately," Wyatt added grimly, "only after I'd delivered the athame right into Gideon's hands. It's too late. I just need to stay moving long enough to get to Gideon."

"And then what?"

"And then, we rescue little Wyatt. The end."

"And then we get Gideon to reverse what he did to you."

"He won't. He was in the attic with us, invisible -- he can do that, remember? He must have heard our conversation -- you, me, Phoebe. He knows my identity now, and he heard what you called me. 'Ruler of all evil.' If he's trying to kill me as a toddler, do you really think he'd save me as an adult?"

"We'll make him. Or we'll get Leo to make the Elders make him."

They had reached a fork in the tunnel, and Wyatt stopped and leaned against a wall, breathing heavily. When Chris opened his mouth to ask if he was okay, Wyatt said, "Shut up. I'm thinking." 

His breathing calmed, and after a moment of silence in which Chris could swear he could hear the red dust move around them, Wyatt stood up straight again, picked a direction, and began walking.

"Did your research tell you where to go?" Chris asked.

"No. That's different. Phoebe's attack -- it seems to be sticking with me. Like I'm still connected to little Wyatt, in a way. I can feel his mind reaching out to me. But he's on the run down here. Orbing away every chance he gets. But he can't keep running. Sooner or later, Gideon will catch him. That's what happens."

This was it. This was what Chris had been looking for all along. The timing wasn't right, it wasn't a demon, but this was where it went wrong, Chris could feel it in his bones. Though why an Elder would do this, he couldn't fathom. It was true that this Elder in particular had clashed, would clash, with Wyatt many times in the future, but that was the future for Gideon. He couldn't know now.

Chris asked Wyatt, "Do you remember any of this – from when you were little?"

"No."

Despite that abrupt answer, Wyatt had stopped walking, and seemed to be thinking about the question, like he was trying to remember. More than that, Chris had never seen anything like that faraway expression in his brother's eyes, something small and lost. So Chris waited, and then Wyatt spoke again.

"I've never remembered before. If it’s because of being here ... but I've been here plenty of times before. Maybe Phoebe just knocked things loose in my brain, because memories are coming to me. Weeks down here. I'm remembering ... faces. Gideon, demons, trying to get at me, all the time. That athame -- how could I forget it?"

"Because you were only a year old."

"I was so tired. So hungry. I must have found water, because I didn't die of dehydration ... or maybe it didn't last as long as it seemed to."

"I had no idea."

Wyatt turned to Chris, and now his expression was far more familiar: one of contempt. "You and Phoebe, thinking your little trick was going to fill me up with warm fuzzies. Show me the light with the feelings of a child who doesn't know what's about to happen to him. He is not me. He believes his family can keep him safe. He doesn't know that's a lie. He is not safe. But he's learning the truth right now. We're going to rescue him, and deal with Gideon, but don't fool yourself that you're changing me."

Wyatt started walking again, and as Chris kept pace, he couldn't help himself – he had to speak aloud of the new barrier between them. "Tell me," he said, "did killing Bianca make you safer?"

"Even you could see that was self-defense."

"She was trying to stop you from killing me."

"Never. I would not have killed you. You know it, she knew it."

"You were choking me! Again."

"Wait." Wyatt threw an arm out as if to stop Chris from charging off somewhere. "He's stopped. Completely stopped. Gideon's got him. And I know where to go. Come on."

He took off at a brisk pace that was remarkable for his condition. They kept moving for about five minutes, until Wyatt slowed down, collapsed against a wall again, and put a finger to his lips. Chris moved in closer, and Wyatt pointed and said in a low tone, "They're up ahead."

Beyond a bend in the corridor, Chris could see the glow of brighter light, light with bluish tones that were unfamiliar down here.

"Go see what we're up against," Wyatt said, trying to steady his breath. "Stay unseen."

Chris crept along, inch by inch, until he could peer around a rugged arched entryway and get a glimpse into the chamber beyond. Gideon was there, pacing around an entrapped Wyatt. Five crystals surrounded the child, creating a cage that was giving off the bluish glow.

The chamber itself was not one of those vast halls often commandeered by cults like Andras's. This was more like a large room, albeit one strewn with boulders and stone pillars, illuminated by scattered torches set in the walls. As far as Chris could tell, there was just one other opening into the chamber, diagonal to the one he stood in. After taking in as much detail as he could, he returned to Wyatt.

"You're right, Wyatt's there."

"He's trapped with crystals. I remember."

"Yes. Gideon's just circling him, like he's figuring out what to do next. He's got the athame."

"Anyone else with him?"

"Not that I saw."

"I thought ... I could have sworn there was a demon there, he was working with ..." Wyatt shook his head. "Maybe I'm wrong. We should be on the lookout for unexpected backup, though."

"We? Damn it, Wyatt, look at you. Who knows how much blood you've lost already, and you're bleeding again. Wait here, and let me do this."

Wyatt held up the potion bottle. "I've been rationing this. Trust me. You break the cage, grab him and get out of here, while I deal with Gideon."

"I am not leaving you to him."

"Could you be any more stubborn?"

It was all Chris could do to keep his voice down, aware as he was of how near Gideon was. "Why don't you want to be saved?" he demanded, in an undertone that shook with years of built-up frustration.

He expected to hear Wyatt say that he didn't need to be saved, good-versus-evil morass, "I'm so past that," and on and on ... the same old argument. Instead, Wyatt seemed to turn the question over. 

Then he answered: "Because I can't be. It's time for you to give up."

"Never."

Wyatt's eyes seemed to be losing focus; swaying, he nearly lost his grip on the precious potion bottle. Chris rushed to grab it and him, and helped him to a rock where he could sit. His skin was clammy, and when Chris took his wrist, his pulse was racing. Chris opened the potion bottle -- still a little more than half full -- and helped Wyatt tip it back.

"Just a little," Chris told him. "Make it last until we get Gideon to reverse the magic."

Wyatt closed his hand around the bottle, and pushed Chris off with a weak sweep of his forearm. "Let's just do this," he said.

Though unsure how much Wyatt _could_ do at this point, Chris realized that more arguing was pointless -- when the moment came, each would do what he wanted, and both of them knew it.

The potion's effectiveness seemed to be diminishing, but Wyatt managed to make it to his feet, and this time they crept forward together to the chamber's entrance. 

Gideon had stopped pacing and was lightly turning the athame in his hands as he stood over little Wyatt in the crystal cage. The athame was clean of Wyatt's blood. For now.

"When you break the cage," Wyatt whispered, "call for Wyatt to come to you. He'll orb to you. He trusts you now. Go."

Gideon, intent on his prey, his hands raising the athame, didn't notice when Chris stepped into the chamber. With a sharp flick of his wrist, Chris sent the weapon spiraling out of Gideon's hands. It flew across the room and landed in some dark corner.

Gideon countered with the same move he had used on Chris in the attic, a force like a wide, rushing wave that pushed him back. This time, though, Chris evaded getting slammed to the ground by diving behind a boulder.

When Gideon spoke, there was no vindictiveness, just a plea. "Chris, I don't want to hurt you. We're working for the same ends. I know what you came here to stop. I want to stop it, too."

Chris craned his neck to see around the rock. Grown Wyatt was still out of sight.

"We can talk," Chris said, "if you don't pick up that athame."

"I won't," Gideon promised.

Chris stood up and came forward cautiously. "And what do you think I came here to stop?"

"Wyatt, of course." His voice picked up pace, desperate to get the words out to someone who might be sympathetic: "This child is too powerful. I have believed for months that he is a threat to us all. And now -- you'll forgive me, I heard your entire exchange with him and Phoebe in the attic -- what you have said confirms that. You have seen the future. You know what he becomes."

"Yeah. I do."

"And I have unknowingly employed him these past weeks, and what I learned of his methods was disturbing. Now I know why. You came to change this future. Help me save it, the only way it can be saved."

"By eliminating Wyatt from the start."

"Yes. We have no choice -- for the greater good."

Little Wyatt watched Chris from within his cage. Chris thought of Cole incinerating Bianca's corpse, and of Phoebe's and Paige's deaths, of his brother out in that corridor, probably unconscious from blood loss by now. A thought Chris had buried for months, never allowing himself to articulate, now floated through his mind: _If I can't save you, I swear to God I'll stop you._

Chris nodded and Gideon relaxed slightly, letting down his guard the tiniest bit. Chris raised a hand again and --

_One, two, three, four, five._

With each rapid flick of the wrist, the crystals surrounding Wyatt flew up and landed neatly around Gideon, forming a circle that activated into a cage before its new captive was able to react.

"I'm getting good at this trick," Chris said.

He took a step toward Wyatt -- who orbed out. For a second, Chris feared it was another flight to Underworld places unknown, but instead the older Wyatt was proved right: The orbs resolved themselves at Chris's side, and little Wyatt raised his arms to be picked up.

As Chris lifted him, Gideon said, "Can't you see what you're doing? You've condemned the future."

"Maybe. But I guess I haven't reached the point where I can watch my brother be murdered in front of me."

"Your ... brother?"

Now that Gideon was trapped, Chris had little interest in continuing this conversation. He called out, "Wyatt? You still with me?"

For a horrible moment, there was no response, but then he came, staggering once he left the support of a wall. He caught his balance, and though he was swaying and holding his side, which was bleeding afresh, he was upright.

"I'm still here."

Chris turned to Gideon. "You're going to heal him."

Wyatt's laugh was weak but derisive. "He won't. He can't."

"I’ve already told you, we'll make him. Look, we did what we came here to do. Wyatt's rescued, Gideon's trapped."

"That's not what I came here to do." Wyatt had pulled out his potion bottle again, and that very effort seemed to send him backwards toward the wall again, where he leaned and breathed heavily. Then, with shaking, bloody hands, he uncorked it and drank down every last remaining drop. Again, he closed his eyes, that pause where he seemed to be waiting for the strength to run through his veins and revive him.

That strength came to him, and he opened his eyes and pushed himself off the wall, steady again -- steadier than he had been since Phoebe had put her hands to his head back in the attic.

"Wyatt, we don't have to do this. And we need him alive, for your sake."

"There's nothing he can do. The magic is the athame's, not his. This is my last chance." Now he turned to Gideon. "No future collaborations after all? I'm so talented, for a witch with no active powers."

Gideon's white face turned toward Chris in appeal, likely realizing this was his only hope of anything like reprieve.

"Wyatt," Chris said, "let's not prove him right, okay? We need to get Leo down here, and the Elders can--"

"The thing is," Wyatt said, "Phoebe channeled more than just little Wyatt's feelings. I got something else. Something better."

He held out a hand and said calmly, "Athame."

Orb lights brightened a dim corner as the athame lying there vanished and, in another swirl of lights, reappeared in Wyatt’s palm. With a look of strange contentment, he closed his fingers around the hilt.

A storm was coming and there was no turning it back. With little Wyatt in his arms, Chris began to retreat to the chamber's farthest wall.

Wyatt said to Gideon, "It's a shame. All those weeks you tormented me, and it's only going to last minutes for you. That's all the time I've got. I'll make it count."

With sudden, furious force, Wyatt hurled the athame. It penetrated the glowing blue cage with a zap, and Gideon cried out as it pinned his left foot.

Pressed against the wall, Chris sunk to the ground, holding little Wyatt's head to his shoulder, trying to keep him from witnessing the onslaught to come. He had to stay for one Wyatt, but he had to protect the other, and it was dangerous here. Gideon was the target, but so was the whole world. Chris held on to his baby big brother and braced himself.

The crystal circle Chris had placed was tight enough that Gideon was unable to bend over and remove the athame from his foot -- he tried, and got a shock. Wyatt watched this impassively and then spread his arms by his sides. Slowly, he began to raise them, hands outstretched, and the crystals first began to sparkle with orb lights, then they began to levitate, taking Gideon and the glowing blue cage with them.

When Wyatt's arms reached just below shoulder height, a short, sharp motion of his hands delivered the telekinetic energy inward. In a trail of orb lights, the crystals burrowed themselves into Gideon's body. There was no blood – the orbing had simply transported the crystals to a new location. The blue lines of the cage began to arc around Gideon, through him. He began to scream, and Chris awkwardly tried to cover little Wyatt's ears, but the noise didn't last long. With a wave of his hand, Wyatt brought down silence. Gideon still gaped, and made a few feeble choking noises, but the scream was gone.

Just maybe, Wyatt wanted to spare his younger self the sound. Chris himself was grateful that he didn't have to hear it, and when Wyatt tossed Gideon to the ground, he couldn't watch anymore. He turned all his attention to little Wyatt, who was clinging to his neck. As the very air seemed to crackle and roar with magical energy whirling about the chamber, Chris murmured a stream of words he hoped were comforting, distracting -- "It's okay, I've got you, you're safe, we'll get you home soon..."

When a moment of complete silence finally came, Chris dared to look up, though still pressing little Wyatt to his shoulder.

Gideon, still shot through with the cage inside him, was floating again, facing Wyatt, whose arms were raised. Then Chris ducked as, with a sudden push of his hands outward, Wyatt shot the crystals out of Gideon's body. They flew like missiles to the surrounding walls, and dust and pebbles rained down into Chris's and little Wyatt's hair as one cracked the rock face above them. Chris saw the bloodstained crystal land a few feet away.

Wyatt stepped back, and let Gideon fall to the ground. Chris wondered if it would stop there, with Gideon thoroughly beaten -- possibly dead. But when the battered figure moaned and stirred, Wyatt held his hands in front of him, as if grasping something invisible, and commanded, "Excalibur."

In a flash of golden light, the sword materialized in his grip. Wyatt used his foot to push the curled-up Gideon over onto his back, and Chris hid his eyes again. But he thought the sound of it -- one blow, one yank -- might stick with him for life. He might as well have watched; he knew just what was happening.

"It's over," Wyatt said, and Chris looked up to see him step back with the just-removed sword.

Gideon was unmoving, silent -- and then all at once his body crumbled to dust.

Wyatt was suddenly bathed in orb lights that were coalescing into two pairs behind him: Leo and Piper, and Phoebe and Paige.

Excalibur slipped out of Wyatt's hands and clanked onto the rocky ground as he turned toward the lights. But that effort seemed to take his last bit of strength. He opened his mouth as if to speak, then collapsed beside the bloody sword.


	24. Chapter 24

"Wyatt!" Piper cried as both she and Leo rushed toward him. Leo made it there, and knelt beside him. But Piper's voice drew little Wyatt's attention. He squirmed to look for her, and then he left Chris's arms as he had come to them, this time orbing right to their mother. She stopped in her tracks to seize him, picking him up and clasping him to her.

Leo -- no longer clad in Elder robes -- was again trying to heal grown Wyatt, pulling Paige down to get extra power from her Whitelighter side. But Piper had now spotted Chris. 

Marching toward him, she put her hands out and -- the awkwardness of holding Wyatt must have thrown off her aim -- rocks exploded over Chris's head. Once again, he covered his head as shards and dust showered on him. And once again, Phoebe was running over, putting herself between Chris and an angry parent. He stayed down.

"Piper! Piper, don't! I swear, if you hurt him, you will regret it the rest of your life."

"I'm not going to blow him up -- yet. I just want him to get the message that it's time for him to talk. Everything has gone to hell, and I see a straight line back from here to the day he first arrived. So don't tell me I'll regret it if--"

"Piper, the baby. It's Chris."

"What are you talking about?"

Piper didn't look toward Chris, or give any other indication that she had truly registered Phoebe's words. But it wasn't the reveal of his identity that caused the sickening lurch in Chris's chest. He broke in before Piper could get an answer.

"Phoebe?"

"Yes? What?"

"You just said my name."

Phoebe blinked. "Oh. I ... I did." Her voice sounded unnaturally high as she said, "Wyatt?"

Chris and Piper followed Phoebe's gaze toward where older Wyatt lay. Paige was gently pulling Leo back as he shook his head and moaned, "No, no, no ..."

And then Wyatt's body just faded away.

Piper jerked back as if dealt a blow and tightened her arms around little Wyatt. 

Chris had seen death, enough for someone three times his age. Two nights ago, he had sat by his fiancee's corpse, in the morning he had asked Cole to burn her body, but this ... he had never seen this. It was as if a chasm as big as the one that had swallowed the Manor had opened in the world. Like a black hole, its enormous pull concentrated in that patch of ground where the body no longer lay.

Phoebe came over to Chris, stumbling a little as she glanced back at that empty space. She crouched down next to him and took his arm. "Sweetie, come on," she said. "It's over."

Even though he was unsure his legs would hold him, he got to his feet. Three shell-shocked faces dragged their eyes away from the empty ground to look toward Phoebe and Chris.

"What happened down here?" she asked him. 

"Gideon had little Wyatt trapped." Chris's hand trembled as he pointed to where the crystals had been, just a few feet away from Gideon's ashes. "Gideon was going to kill baby Wyatt, and asked me to help do it. Instead, we rescued him, and Wyatt -- future, my Wyatt -- killed Gideon. Right there."

Leo, who had been pulling himself to his feet with Paige's help, recoiled. He, at least, seemed to understand the significance of the spread of ashes, what remained of Gideon's body. Then Leo looked back at where Wyatt's body had been -- no ashes there. Nothing. Like he had never existed.

But Excalibur, lying nearby, bore witness that he had. Piper followed Leo's gaze to it, and she took a horrified step back. Though his expression was no less repulsed, Leo bent to pick it up gingerly. Wyatt's hands, after they had repeatedly pressed his wound, had smeared the hilt with his own blood, which gave way to Gideon's blood on the blade.

"I don't want that in the house," Piper said, her voice breaking.

"We can't just leave it here in the Underworld," Leo said.

"I don't care. Tell the Elders to take it. Tell them to get down here and see what one of their kind has done. Maybe more of them, maybe all of them. How do we know that Gideon was working alone?"

"Wyatt didn't remember anyone else but Gideon," Chris said. "Gideon, and demons working with him. Wyatt told me about how he..." Chris trailed off as Piper and Leo stared at him. Chris felt like he was ten years old again, trying to defend his brother, trying to find a way to put some latest misdeed in a better light, if only in his own mind. 

Leo still had the sword, his fingertips touching it as little as possible while the tip of the blade balanced on the ground. From his mother's protective arms, little Wyatt watched -- was he looking at the sword? Piper had said he had orbed Excalibur to himself that day they had found it, but he did nothing now. 

"Gideon was working with demons," Chris finished. "Wyatt didn't remember any Elder but Gideon."

"And Gideon was so secretive, looking for that athame -- maybe he really was on his own in this," Leo added. "And where is the athame?" he asked Chris. "Did Gideon have it?"

"Uh, yes. He was going to use it to kill little Wyatt, but it was ... well, it was stuck in his foot when he died." Chris edged over to the spread of ashes. "Everything's gone. Disintegrated."

Paige coughed and stepped forward, removing the light jacket she was wearing over a sleeveless top. "Let me have it," she said. With the jacket protecting her hand, she took Excalibur from Leo, who yielded it without seeming to notice as he stared at that pile of ashes. "You and Piper take Wyatt home. I'll take the sword Up There and try to explain what I can." Paige looked at Chris and added, "Of course, if I can bring someone with me, someone who knows a whole lot more than any of us..."

Chris took a tentative step toward her but Piper threw out her free hand as if to push him back.

"No," she said. "He's coming with us."

"She's right," Leo said, snapping out of his trance. "We deserve to get the story."

"Okay," Paige said. "I'll tell them what I know, and keep it simple." She orbed away.

"Let's go then." Leo walked to Piper's side. "Back to the Manor -- unless," he added to Chris, "we need to _make_ you come along."

Chris didn't mind that Phoebe answered for him. "He'll take me," she said, grabbing Chris's hand.

Chris orbed himself and Phoebe into the living room, and sank onto a sofa. He was filthy with Underworld dirt from two time zones, dust from the future Manor being shaken apart, dried blood on his shirt that had to be Wyatt's, and he hadn't bathed in ... he couldn't calculate how long, he just knew it was since before he had last slept.

He heard Leo's voice, indistinct, out in the foyer.

"Are you ready for this?" Phoebe asked Chris.

"I don't know, I -- but you can tell them everything you've seen and heard. You have my permission." He tried to smile. "So that it doesn't have to be only me on the witness stand."

Phoebe patted him on the shoulder. "You stay put," she said. "Let me go talk to them."

But they were already there, walking into the room, both zeroing in on Chris. Leo was holding Wyatt now, and his eyes were narrowed with that same suspicion that had become so familiar to Chris here in the past. Piper lingered a few steps behind, her arms crossed, but with a tilt to her head that softened her appraising gaze.

"We need to put Wyatt down for a nap," Leo said. "And then we will talk. Are you going to run off?"

Exhausted though he was, Chris offered a feeble snap back: "What, don't you trust me?"

That was a no, obviously, but Leo said, "You did help rescue my son. But I have a feeling you still have a lot to answer for."

"You're probably right."

Piper sighed and finally stopped her scrutiny of Chris. "Phoebe, we need to talk to you. Alone, for the moment."

"I can do that," Phoebe said.

"Not 'eventually'?"

"No. Wyatt knew what would happen. 'Eventually' is now."

"Leo, you too," Piper said.

And so they left him.

Chris slumped back on the sofa and closed his eyes. He tried to catch the conversation, but they were walking away, too far away, and his brain felt fuzzy. Some words floated to him -- Leo, saying something about Elders and Paige -- but then all faded as sleep overtook him.

* * * *

Piper needed to have this conversation out of Chris's earshot, but Leo started speaking before they even hit the foyer.

"I don't know. Can you deal with Chris? Maybe I should go join Paige with the Elders. The longer she's away..."

"What, are they going to hurt her, too?" Phoebe asked.

"No, it's just -- This is bad. What is the story she has to tell? That Wyatt killed an Elder."

Piper's voice was low and dangerous. "That was self-defense. And if they don't see it that way, then they will be happy to know that Wyatt is _dead_."

That word cut through the air, bringing down a moment of unbearable silence. Leo pulled little Wyatt closer to him. 

Piper took a shaky breath, trying to dispel the tightness in her chest. "You said yourself you wanted to hear Chris's story first, Leo. But before you rush off, we're both going to see Wyatt settled in for his nap, together, so he feels safe. And then, at the very least, you're going to listen to what Phoebe has to say -- now that she will talk. It's time to clear the air."

Wyatt was rubbing his eyes and beginning to fuss, and no wonder -- his afternoon naptime had come and nearly gone, after all he'd been through today. With Leo at her side as ordered, Piper put Wyatt in his crib and soothed him until he settled in, almost as relaxed as any normal day. But when she and Leo left the room, Piper didn't get very far. One hand clutching her half of the baby monitor, Piper tried to pull the door closed, but couldn't seem to make herself stop looking in on Wyatt, or even let go of the handle. Lying down, he was still awake, sucking his thumb, his eyes on her.

Phoebe, who had followed them upstairs and waited in the hall, said, "He's not going to get any sleep if we're hanging around him, talking."

"What if someone comes back for him? Okay, so there were no other Elders after him, but there were demons, Chris said..."

"Let's go to your room," Phoebe said. "You'll be nearby."

Piper made herself let go of the door, leaving it ajar, and let Leo lead her to her own room. That door she left wide open. Leo took up a watchful station there, which reassured her, enough to give her attention to Phoebe.

"Before we talk to Chris," Piper said to her, "I need to ask you one thing: What did you mean, down in the Underworld, when you were talking about the baby?"

"I meant..." Phoebe briefly clutched and unclutched her hands in Piper's direction -- with a darting glance at Leo -- before letting the words out in a rush: "The baby is Chris."

"Uh huh. And how do you know this?"

"Because Wyatt admitted it. But he -- remember the genie? He made a wish that I couldn't talk about him or Chris. Yeah, that's the only reason I was keeping things from you, and from Paige. I had no choice. And then when I found out I also couldn't talk about the baby, I knew..."

"You knew for sure who the baby was. But why would Wyatt make a wish like that?"

Phoebe bit her lip. "He didn't mean to. It was an accident. At first. But I think it suited his purposes, so he wouldn't reverse it."

"His 'purposes'? What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, honey, you know the things he said about Chris. I don't think those things are true, but it's pretty obvious they don't exactly, uh, get along."

_Didn't._ Piper just refrained from correcting her. _They didn't get along._ While at the same time: _They won't get along._

"Excuse me," Leo said. "Will somebody tell me what's going on? What baby are you talking about?"

"Apparently ... Chris," Piper said.

"You found Chris as a baby in this time?"

"Not so much found as conceived." Saying it aloud changed something in Piper, making the surreal real, no longer strange but natural. "Leo, he's ours. Chris is Wyatt's little brother. I'm pregnant."

Leo wasn't watching the door anymore. He seemed to have lost the power of speech, and just produced a short, stunned, wordless wheeze. Finally, he stuttered, "I ... how ..."

"I think you know how, Leo."

That drew the ghost of an abashed smile from him.

Piper looked at the baby monitor that she was still holding, and tried to turn up the volume. But it was already on full blast. All was quiet in Wyatt's room. Too quiet? The second that thought hit her, she walked past Leo, out of her room, to go peer in on Wyatt. He was there, already asleep. To deal with this new thing, she was going to have to trust enough to let him be.

Leo and Phoebe had trailed after her.

"He's all right?" Leo asked.

Piper nodded, and closed the door a little bit more. "Okay, now that Phoebe's filled us in on some pretty crucial information, let's go and talk to our younger son."

The walk down to the living room was just enough time for nerves to kick in. Piper wondered what she could possibly say to Chris. Should she apologize for anything? Expect him to apologize? Should she scold him for lying? Demand a recitation of whatever led to today's catastrophe?

In her mind's eye, she saw grown Wyatt's bloody body vanishing. Maybe she would just throw her arms around this other grown son and refuse to let him go. Ever.

"Chris?" she said as she entered the living room, and then, more quietly, "Oh."

Behind her, Leo halted and dropped his voice, too. "I guess we're not talking to him now?"

Chris was still there on the sofa, where they had left him. But he was now slumped awkwardly to one side, in as deep a sleep as was the toddler upstairs.

Phoebe had come down as well. "I'm pretty sure he didn't sleep last night," she whispered. "Before that, I don't know. If you want to leave him be for now, I can tell you more about what's happened."

Piper took an uncertain step toward Chris. "Leo, can you orb someone without waking them up?"

"I can try."

"Then let's get him somewhere more comfortable."

Back upstairs on her own, she threw back the covers on her own bed before Leo orbed Chris in, as gently as he could. Chris crumpled from his half-sitting position onto the bed's flat surface, but he seemed to sleep right through it, not even waking up when Piper removed his shoes.

Then he stirred when she put the covers over him. His eyes half-opened and he mumbled in a groggy, barely conscious voice, "Mom?"

"Shhh." She bent over to kiss his forehead. "Go back to sleep."

His eyes were closed again -- he probably hadn't been actually awake at all.

Piper and Leo walked out into the hallway, where Leo turned his back and took a few paces away, his head bowed, and Piper stood between two rooms, two sleeping sons. She supposed they should go back to Phoebe, and listen to whatever else she could explain. Piper told herself she couldn't stand here indefinitely, her new mission in life to protect just these two rooms.

_They don't exactly get along._ Why? What had gone wrong between them? Why would Wyatt have told them Chris couldn't be trusted?

Something else Phoebe had said floated through Piper's mind: _You know something is wrong._ Wrong with Wyatt, Phoebe had meant and couldn't say.

_Did I know?_ Piper wondered. She had doubted Wyatt when he first arrived, doubted what he had said about Chris. But not for long. Wyatt's very presence had constituted overwhelming proof.

_You know something is wrong ..._ Piper felt like she didn't know anything. But she had sensed, underneath it all, that this future son -- the older one -- was in darkness, and terribly alone. If that was what Phoebe had meant, then Phoebe was right.

In sensing Wyatt's isolation, Piper had wished that his not-yet-born younger brother would grow up to look after him. Wyatt had scoffed at the idea, but she had got her wish after all. No matter what Wyatt had told them, Chris had come to the past to keep some evil from coming after his brother. For months, that had been the only thing they could say with certainty about Chris: He had been obsessed with that mission. Piper had never thought to ask why.

Leo was still facing away, his fists clenched by his sides.

"What if--" Piper began, and then stopped herself as Leo lifted his head. Not in response to her voice -- this move of his head she knew all too well. The "jingle." The Elders were calling. 

She expected him to give that familiar refrain -- "I have to go" -- but he said nothing. Then, maybe a second, more insistent call came, for Leo jerked his head up, and instead of orbing away, he suddenly unclenched his fists, raised his hands, and, with a cry of anguish, let loose bolts of lightning. He had been facing a mirror, which shattered, and a little hall table cracked.

Piper rushed over to Leo and pulled him around to face her. "You'll wake the boys," she said, because she couldn't think of any other reason to tell him to stop. Otherwise, destroy the hallway -- she didn't give a damn. But she did find herself grateful that she had insisted they talk to Phoebe first. If they hadn't, Leo might have unleashed his rage on Chris, the nearest target. 

Leo did stop, and tried to speak, but he seemed to be struggling just to breathe. Then he got the words out: "Why? Why couldn't I heal him? I should have, should have been able to--"

"Leo, no, you keep the blame where it belongs. On Gideon. Listen -- what if Gideon was the evil Chris said was after Wyatt?"

"But, but Chris was looking for a demon."

"Chris didn't know _what_ he was looking for. He was stumbling around in the dark, sending us after any possible threat. No matter how remote. Why would he suspect an Elder? But if it was supposed to be Gideon all along -- think about what that means."

Leo shook his head, again unable to speak, and tried to turn away from her. She wouldn't let him. 

Gripping his hands, she said, "If this is what Chris came to change, maybe he changed it. Wyatt was rescued. He's home, alive, and safe in his room right now. And maybe his future will be different." Her own voice caught, and she forced herself to talk through the sobs that were rising. "Because I do not accept the future we just saw. His life is _not_ going to end this way."

She fell into Leo's arms, or maybe he fell into hers. They clung to each other, crying for a lost child, so very lost, while the same child slept peacefully, healthy and whole, in a crib not ten feet away.


	25. Chapter 25

Even before Chris forced his eyes open, he had to reorient himself. He could tell he was lying on a bed, under covers, no longer slumped on a sofa. He heard the sounds of movement, a gentle shuffling noise, a baby's babble, and then his mother's murmur in response. He opened his eyes and saw her in a nearby armchair. Wyatt was at her knees, handing her a teddy bear. In the dim light -- the drapes were drawn -- Chris recognized the master bedroom.

When he propped himself up on his elbow -- and immediately sunk down again with a slight groan -- Piper looked up.

Wyatt noticed, too, and made his way over to Chris to give the teddy bear to him instead. Dropping the toy next to Chris's head, Wyatt took tiny fistfuls of the covers and unsuccessfully tried to hoist himself onto the bed.

"Ever since he discovered you were in here, he's wanted to stay," Piper said. "He's been orbing in here all day, so finally I gave up and stayed to keep an eye on him. I didn't want him to wake you."

"How did I get here?"

"Well, your _father_ orbed you to bed."

"Oh."

"Yes, oh."

Chris made the effort again to sit up, this time succeeded, and squinted at the windows. A thin break between the heavy drapes showed full daylight outside. "How long have I been out?" he asked.

"About sixteen hours. When was the last time you slept?"

"Um, I may have nodded off without meaning to a few times last night." He amended himself: "I mean, the night before last. Before that ... Does being unconscious count? If it does, then, the last time I really slept was when I was unconscious after Bianca attacked me."

"I don't think being unconscious does count, but, Chris, that was months ago."

"To me, it's been ... three days? I think. I've kind of lost track."

"I can imagine." She smiled, but her voice had a touch of hoarseness, the kind that betrayed she had been crying some time that morning. She asked, "What about food? Have you eaten in three days?"

"We raided Wyatt's refrigerator in the future. But, yeah, I'm hungry."

Wyatt gave up on trying to scale the side of the bed and orbed up there, landing next to Chris. He tried again to offer the teddy bear, and ended up shoving it in Chris's face.

"Okay, okay, thanks," Chris said, taking the bear.

"Come on, mister," Piper said, picking Wyatt up. "Give your little brother some space."

As she walked to the door, she paused by shelves to put her hand on some folded clothes that crowded aside the baby supplies normally kept there. "You left these in the backroom of P3. They were stuffed in a laundry bag, so I washed them."

Chris swung his feet to the floor and looked down at himself, at the bloodstains on his shirt and jeans, and Piper added gently, "I thought you might want to clean up. There's everything you need in the bathroom, and there will be food waiting for you, okay?"

A half hour later, Chris, with wet hair and wearing fresh clothes, came downstairs -- discovering bruises and aches from the past few days with every step. He followed the rich smell of something that had been stewing for hours. Unless Piper had taken up cheating with magic in the kitchen -- which the chef in her would never allow -- she had started cooking this morning. In between shooing Wyatt away from Chris as he slept, apparently.

He walked into the kitchen, in one hand carrying the teddy bear, and under his other arm the dirty clothes. He returned the bear to Wyatt, who was playing on the floor with a toy truck. Piper, stirring a soup pot on the stove, didn't immediately notice Chris as he stood holding the clothes.

He announced himself: "Uh, I didn't know what to do with these."

Piper turned and, seeing the clothes, said, "Leave them on the floor of the laundry room, and I'll get to them. Don't worry about it."

Chris didn't ever want to wear or see these clothes again, but he obeyed automatically. When he returned to the kitchen, he asked, "Where is everybody?"

"Your dad is up with the Elders. He spent all night and most of the morning ignoring their calls -- he wanted to talk to you first. But they sent Paige to get him, and the two of them left. That was a few hours ago. Phoebe wanted to go, since she was the only one who actually knew anything -- the only one awake, that is. But nobody was sure if she was allowed, and when Phoebe got an irate message from Elise, I told her to go to work. We don't need her getting fired on top of everything else."

Piper ground some pepper over the soup, gave it a taste, and was apparently satisfied.

"Sit," she ordered.

She pulled down a bowl and ladled out soup, then put it in front of him where he sat down at the kitchen table. She uncovered a plate of sandwiches and slid it over to him. "I wanted to ask you what your favorite was, but you were asleep."

"This is perfect, thanks." It was a homey beef-and-vegetable soup, something he remembered from childhood, as good as everything else she made, but Chris didn't think it had ever tasted this good. Maybe all the years since he had eaten it made the difference.

They sat in silence while Chris ate and Wyatt played on the floor, until, when Chris was almost finished, there was the sound and lights of orbing, and he immediately felt his shoulders tense. Leo was back.

Chris put his spoon down and folded his arms. "Guess it's time to talk."

Leo frowned uncertainly and looked to Piper, who stepped in. 

"What happened?" she asked him. "Where's Paige?"

Wyatt crawled over, grabbed his father's leg to pull himself to his feet, and raised his arms. Leo bent down to pick him up as he started to answer Piper: "Uh, Paige is--" But when he straightened up with Wyatt in his arms, his eyes landed on Chris again, and he asked, "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, Leo. I just want to know what's going on. Where's Paige?"

"Paige is at Magic School, with Darryl."

"With Darryl?" Piper asked.

"Paige made the case to the Elders that somebody needed to do some investigation, talk to the people who worked with Gideon, see if anyone knew anything. She didn't think the Elders themselves would be impartial enough or" -- Leo gave a brief, bitter laugh -- "competent enough to do it. So she volunteered herself, and brought Darryl along for investigative expertise."

Chris was impressed she talked the Elders into that, but he asked, "How does Paige count as an impartial party? Darryl might -- barely."

"It doesn't have to hold up in a court of law, Chris," Leo said. "I just want the truth."

Piper added, "I trust Paige and Darryl to get it more than the Elders. And what about you, Leo? What were they doing with you all this time?"

"Questioning me. I told them what I had seen. I told them ..." He glanced at Chris. "I told them some of what Phoebe told us. Of course, they want to talk to Chris."

"So you came back to get me?"

"They sent me to get you, yes. But I'm not going to drag you there. It's your choice. But if you do go, I'd like to hear what you have to say first."

"To get our stories straight?"

Leo didn't rise to the bait. "No, because I think your mother and I have a right to know. Before the Elders decide--" He stopped himself.

"Before the Elders decide what?" Piper asked.

"Many of the Elders are arguing that Wyatt should be stripped of his powers."

"What? They're going to punish _him_ for this?"

Leo's expression was tight, his own anger just contained as he gave a recitation of the facts as the Elders saw them: "They don't see it as punishment. They see it as precaution. They were aware that Gideon was worried about Wyatt's powers, though no one thought Gideon would go this far. And they tell me over and over that of course they don't approve of what Gideon did, but many share his concerns. And with Gideon's death, that faction has the upper hand. Future Wyatt killed an Elder, and they say they can't overlook it."

"I don't believe this. One of their own kidnapped a baby and tried to kill him. And Gideon stabbed future Wyatt--"

"I know, Piper, believe me, I'm on his side."

"It was self-defense," she said.

"Was it?" 

"Of course," Piper said, but Leo had directed that question at Chris. As if waiting for the answer himself, little Wyatt, his head leaning on Leo's shoulder, watched Chris.

"We can't help him if we don't know the truth," Leo said.

Chris found it easier to swirl his spoon through the last bits of his soup a few times, rather than meet their eyes as he answered. "We had Gideon trapped. Wyatt, little Wyatt, was already rescued. But ..." He shook his head. "I'm sorry."

"Wyatt killed Gideon anyway."

"Yes."

Chris dropped the spoon back in the bowl as Piper shook her head and walked to the stove. Her hands looked shaky as she removed the soup pot from the burner, flicked off the heat, and then took Chris's dishes and put them in the dishwasher. He watched her until Leo spoke.

"You told us you came to the past to keep some evil from hurting Wyatt."

"Yeah."

"But from what Phoebe said, that isn't the whole story."

Chris sighed. Well, he had told her to talk. "What did she tell you?"

"She told us the future she saw was pretty bad."

Chris snorted at the understatement.

Piper returned to the conversation. "Phoebe said she was worried about some of the things Wyatt had done here."

"Yeah, I've been worried, too. The future's bad enough, and then I have to worry about him being here these past months, doing who knows what, right under your noses."

"And he said the same thing about you when he first got here," Piper said, managing a wry smile.

"And you believed him."

"Actually, not at first but..."

"He didn't give us reason not to trust him," Leo said.

Somehow Chris doubted that -- he had experienced his parents' blindness when it came to Wyatt before. 

" _You_ never gave us any reason not to trust him," Piper said. "It's time you tell us the truth. What you really came back to change."

Maybe Phoebe hadn't told them everything -- maybe she had just implied, and left this full confession to Chris. He looked between his parents and came out with it: "The evil from the future I came back to stop wasn't a demon. It was Wyatt. He took over, terrorized people. Killed ... not just demons."

Little Wyatt was squirming now, and Leo let him back down. Crawling, he bypassed the teddy bear and truck to get to a low shelf, where he began pulling out a collection of old pots and pans. They were probably there for his entertainment, since Piper made no move to intervene. She was focused on Chris.

"Sweetie," she said, "you should have told us."

_You wouldn't have helped me if I'd told you_ , Chris thought. But the words he spoke aloud were also true: "I didn't want to get you involved. I was trying to protect you."

"Chris, we're your parents," Leo said. "We're supposed to protect you, not the other way around."

So much Chris could say to that, about how he couldn't remember the last time he'd felt "protected" by Leo, about how he had lost Mom's protection with her death on his fourteenth birthday, about how he'd been left to make these choices on his own. It was only Piper's presence that made him bite back a sarcastic retort.

Instead, he changed the subject. "So, uh, all the time Wyatt was here, was he staying with you?"

"No," Piper said, "he was at this hotel, not in the best neighborhood--"

"The Hotel Averno," Chris guessed.

"You know the place?"

"Yeah, and, believe me, if he collected anything magically useful, you don't want his stuff left behind for management to claim. That'd be nothing but trouble. I'll go get whatever's there."

"I'll come with you," Leo said.

"Uh, that's okay, I can manage it." Yes, Wyatt's stuff had to be dealt with, but this was also a plan of temporary escape. That wouldn't work with Leo along.

"How exactly are you going to get in?" Piper asked. "We don't know what room he was staying in. Do you?"

Chris sighed. No, it hadn't seemed really important yesterday to ask Wyatt for his room number.

"I can glamour to look like him," Leo said, looking like he was steeling himself at the prospect already. "Maybe I can pick up the key at the reception desk -- seems like the kind of place that would still have old keys with the room number on it, right?"

"Yeah," Chris admitted. "Even in the future. Not exactly high-tech, or any tech. And if I remember right, they actually magically force you to leave the key behind at reception. Too many lost keys with vanquishings."

"So, let's try it," Leo said.

Glamouring was another one of those Whitelighter abilities Chris had never mastered, and Leo evidently knew it. Chris was stuck, short of backing out altogether -- but he wanted to see for himself what Wyatt had left behind.

Not to mention, his mother was in the windup for one of her patented death glares. She had many years to come of trying to broker peace between father and younger son, and she was getting a jump on it. Chris wasn't going to get out of this.

"Fine," he said.

Piper gave a short nod of approval. Death glare averted.

Leo said to Chris, "Ready?"

"Uh, if you want to fool anyone, you'd better do the glamour here."

All three jumped as little Wyatt dropped a cookie sheet and laughed at the clatter and the attention it had earned. Piper's attention especially -- now that she had her eyes on him, she kept them there, with her back to Leo. He seemed to understand -- she didn't want to watch this -- and he took a few paces away before he closed his eyes and transformed himself.

Chris took an involuntary step back from "Wyatt," suddenly appearing in the kitchen. Then, with a wordless look between them, Chris and Leo orbed away to that not-the-best neighborhood, finding an alleyway that was a short walk to the Averno.

Chris had been barely fifteen the first time he had been to the hotel. He had gone to meet up with Wyatt, who had wanted to get away from the Manor to keep his doings secret from Leo and the aunts -- something about vanquishing a band of demons, back when Wyatt still vanquished demons. He only let Chris in on it because he needed him to bring the Book of Shadows to the Averno. He said Chris would have an easier time sneaking it out of the house. They had sat in one of the Averno's cramped, dingy rooms and pored through the Book, but eventually Wyatt went off and did whatever needed to be done all by himself. Chris brought the Book home undetected.

Maybe Wyatt hadn't vanquished those demons. Chris wasn't going to make that assumption anymore.

Since then, Chris had been to the hotel off and on. Never as a resident, but it had been a place to meet demon contacts. He'd been there only once in this time, though, when he had tracked down Gith -- who had ended up vanquished, of course. Remembering that as he lingered behind Leo in the lobby, Chris wondered if he was imagining the clerk's suspicious glance thrown his way.

It was something to think about other than how disturbing it was to watch "Wyatt" walking around a day after Chris had watched him die. Chris hoped the clerk didn't know Wyatt too well, because Leo was making a pretty miserable attempt at impersonating him. Cradling a cardboard box, Leo spoke too mildly, his posture too hesitant, the father's underlying grief too evident in his expression.

But the clerk, with a grumpy growl that sort of approached words, pulled the key down from a hook labeled 819 and handed it over. Chris and Leo headed upstairs, taking the creaky, moldy elevator. Even when they were out of eyeshot, neither suggested orbing to the room. They rode up to the eighth floor in silence. Chris looked above, watching the floors light up, one after the other, while Leo leaned against the wall, his head bowed, Wyatt's long hair falling in his face.

Leo only dropped the glamour after he had turned the old key in the lock, let himself and Chris into Room 819, and secured the door behind them. Chris never thought he'd be so relieved to see his father's face.

The Averno's rooms were even smaller than Chris had remembered. The spartan room was mostly neat -- with the exception of the bed. It was made, but the ratty bedspread was scattered with papers and books.

Leo, arms around his empty cardboard box, had halted in the middle of the room. Chris moved past him to a dresser with particle board showing through chipped laminate and pulled a drawer open. He found clothes, a melange of the sort of dark things Wyatt always wore, plus light shades that Chris couldn't even picture him wearing.

"Should we take everything?" Chris asked.

Snapping out of his trance, Leo said, "Like you said, definitely anything magical. Personal items... Most of the clothes were mine, left behind at the Manor, though he seemed to be finding things that were more his style."

Leo set his box down on a metal-framed chair with a cracked vinyl cushion and dropped the room key on top of the dresser. He grabbed a duffel bag that sat on the floor in a corner, and began to drop the clothes into it. Chris moved to the bed. Placed in front of the only free spot -- just enough room to sit -- was an ancient, crumbling book open for reading. A familiar small notebook sat on top, a pen tucked into its pages.

Taking the bed's open seat, Chris picked up the notebook and flipped through it, seeing his own handwriting and, in later pages, Wyatt's. "This is mine."

"And Wyatt said this was his."

Chris looked up to see Leo, with a faint smile, holding out a pendant dangling by a chain.

He sounded almost sheepish. "When your brother first arrived, the first thing he wanted to do was to figure out what you'd been up to -- he started by going through your things at P3. I took him there. Sorry."

"Just like when we were kids, getting into my stuff."

Chris marveled at how within less than twenty-four hours Leo had slipped into parental mode, raising his eyebrows and asking with a hint of scolding: " _Does_ it belong to him?"

Chris took the necklace and dangled it. "Well ... yeah. It's Wyatt's, and I stole it from him, okay? It was just a cheap little thing, a present from ... it doesn't matter." 

From the only cousin who had loved Wyatt to the end -- her own end, just before her twelfth birthday. At least Phoebe hadn't lived to endure that. 

Chris continued, "I was surprised he still had it. But it was a personal possession that he wouldn't miss, and I had, um, someone steal it because..."

"Because it would work for scrying."

"Yes." Chris returned it to Leo, who placed it gently in the bottom of the box.

Chris flipped his notebook open to the pen. Wyatt had scribbled something about an athame ... Chris compared it to the yellowed pages of the tome spread out on the bed.

And there it was. A drawing of an athame, and Chris had only seen Gideon's weapon from a distance, but he was sure he was looking at it right now.

"Wyatt had figured it out," Chris said, almost to himself.

"What did you find?" Leo asked, stopping in his emptying of dresser drawers.

"It's why he came looking for little Wyatt yesterday. He was reading up on Gideon's athame, and ..." Referring to Wyatt's scribbled notes rather than the archaic text, Chris said, "Created to attack Whitelighters. Creates wounds that can't be healed. But to activate the darkest magic, you needed a blessing."

Chris returned to the book, and touched the text next to the drawing of the athame. He knew better than to recite any spell aloud, and Leo leaned over to join him in reading silently:

_Wanton powers in this blade, yield,_   
_Penetrate that which would shield._

"The athame could break a shield," Chris said. "That's how he knew Gideon was targeting little Wyatt. He tried to tell us, but Phoebe and I ... we distracted him, and then Gideon showed up. Gideon got Wyatt himself to find this? Why? Some kind of sick thrill?"

"Gideon didn't know who Wyatt really was, didn't know he was from the future, even. And I ... I was the one who ..."

Leo suddenly looked like he might collapse and, more alarmingly, blue sparks were dancing between his fingers like miniature lightning. Chris jumped up and grabbed the chair, letting the box, still empty but for the necklace, fall to the floor. He placed the seat behind Leo.

"Okay, Dad? Dad, sit. Sit down. This room is too small for that. All you'll end up doing is blasting me into the next room."

Leo let himself be half-helped, half-pushed into the chair, and the sparks died out. In a choked voice, he said, "Gideon sent me to talk to Wyatt about helping him. I delivered him right into Gideon's hands."

"Which just means that Gideon was even more a bastard for involving you. What I don't get is why Wyatt worked for Gideon in the first place."

His fists clenched, Leo took several deep breaths before he gained control enough to speak almost calmly. "Wyatt agreed because he said he needed access to Magic School in this time. He didn't tell me why."

The idea of Wyatt having unfettered access to Magic School was worrisome, but it was not the best time to quiz Leo on what damage Wyatt might have done there.

"Whatever it was, it had to be damn important," Chris just said. "I mean, he hated Gideon. Always did. Everyone just figured, well, of course he'd clash with an Elder who kept such a close eye on him, but now..."

"Maybe some part of him remembered."

"Some part of him, yeah. Yesterday..."

"Yesterday?"

"When we were down in the Underworld, Wyatt told me that things were coming back to him. How Gideon had him down there for weeks, all the while trying to kill him, before he was finally rescued."

"Weeks..." Leo muttered.

"Listen," Chris said. "You just sit. I'll finish here. Starting with this--" Chris waved his hand and sent all the books and papers on the bed away in a cloud of orb lights. He aimed for the floor of the Manor's attic. "I'll sort through that later."

While Leo sat lost in his thoughts, Chris picked up the box and retrieved the necklace that had fallen out of it. He quickly finished the job of clearing out all the important stuff. Everything fit in the duffel bag and cardboard box with room to spare. All that was left behind were various toiletries and a few kitchen implements -- some disposable plates and utensils, a hotplate, and a battered old pot that by the smell of it, had been used for potion-making. No harm in leaving behind those last bits of Wyatt's life to management, along with the room key abandoned on top of the dresser.

Leo roused himself and picked up the box. Chris was about to orb out with the duffel bag, but paused when Leo spoke.

"Maybe your mother is right."

"About what?"

"That we've changed this. That the future will be different."

"Uh, maybe." Chris didn't feel like discussing it right now, in this room, Wyatt's effects a weight on his shoulder. "Come on, Leo, let's go."

When they returned, Phoebe was home already -- she had banged out a column in record time, handed it in, and fled. "No idea if it was anything Elise will want to run," Phoebe said, "but it's done."

Not long after, Paige and Darryl arrived to provide some more clues -- and another shock for Leo.

"Sigmund was in on it," Paige said.

"It took hardly any pressure, and the guy caved," Darryl added. "A real bad case of guilty conscience. Though I'm not sure he's guilty of more than conspiracy -- listening to his boss plan a murder and keeping his mouth shut about it."

Chris hung back in the entryway to the sunroom as Leo, Piper and Phoebe listened to Paige continue the explanation of what she and Darryl had discovered.

"That athame Gideon used -- Sigmund's the one who brought it to his attention," she said. "Gideon had convinced him that Wyatt was too great a threat, too powerful, and here in a book Sigmund finds evidence of an athame that can break through a shield. Sigmund believes Gideon, wants to help, so he tells him. But as far as either of them knew, the athame was lost to history. I don't think Sigmund really expected Gideon to get his hands on it."

"He probably started getting cold feet once it looked like the thing might actually get used," Darryl said. "And now that it's over, he's spilling it all."

"That is, he's spilling it to the Elders as we speak. They took him away."

"And that is the end of my adventures in Magic Schools and other realms, thank God," Darryl declared, just as his cell phone started ringing. He took a look at it and said, "Sorry, I've got to get back to police work in the real world."

"Thank you for lending a hand, Darryl," Piper said. Wyatt was napping, and the baby monitor had been clutched in her hand, volume turned fully up, ever since she had come downstairs.

"Of course. I hope it helped."

Chris stepped aside to let Paige see Darryl out, and for the first time since coming from Magic School, Darryl acknowledged Chris's presence.

"So he's back?" Darryl asked Paige. "Didn't you say you had found out that you'd been wrong about him? That he was evil or something?"

Paige narrowed her eyes at Chris before she answered Darryl. "Yeah, I don't know the whole story yet myself, but I guess we were wrong about being wrong about him. It's been that kind of day."

After Darryl left, Paige grabbed Chris's arm and pulled him into the sunroom, saying, "Okay, back in here." She didn't let go of him as she said, "Of course, Leo, the Elders are still expecting you to come back, and bringing along" -- she raised Chris's arm so that he felt like a kid admitting to breaking a lamp -- "my _nephew_."

Before Chris could think of what to say to that, Leo said, "He doesn't have to go up right this instant -- or ever, if he doesn't want to."

"Hey, I'm just the messenger here." She dropped Chris's arm and flopped down in an armchair. "And I'm just about done with dealing with Elders myself." She aded to Leo, "Present company excepted."

Leo shook his head. "I'm not one of them anymore."

"You can just stop being one of them?" Piper asked.

"I stopped being one of them the minute Gideon targeted my son. And then there's Sigmund, and everyone else who agreed with Gideon..." Leo shook his head. "But I've been thinking about what we found in Wyatt's room, the research about the athame."

"Yeah," Chris said, stepping away from the others, ready to orb upstairs. "I've got to go deal with that stuff before I talk to the Elders."

"I've also been thinking about what you told me, Chris. You said Wyatt remembered being captive for weeks.

"At least."

"And knowing that, now I'm more sure than ever -- the evil you said was after Wyatt, it had to be Gideon."

"I don't know," Chris said. "Yesterday I thought -- maybe? But if Gideon was so afraid of Wyatt, why would he want to turn him evil?"

"I don't think he did intentionally. I think Gideon tried to kill Wyatt in your future -- only just like in this time, he found out that Wyatt can protect himself. So he probably had to get him away so he could figure out how to do it. And then, like Wyatt remembered, weeks, maybe even months, constantly fending off Gideon's attacks."

"But the timing isn't right. It was supposed to have happened before I was born, but from what little I knew -- because whatever happened, you guys never talked about it, not to me -- I thought it would be closer to my birthday."

"That may have been true before Wyatt came here. But think about it: If Wyatt hadn't helped him, it might have taken Gideon months to find that athame on his own."

Phoebe was nodding. "So he would have made his move months later."

"But because of Wyatt, because of you, Chris, that has changed. Gideon moved early, and this Wyatt" -- Leo pointed to the little one on the floor -- "was rescued in hardly more than an hour. Think about that. You did it."

Too many what-ifs, not enough certainty, as far as Chris was concerned. 

"I gave up on it," he said. "Wyatt sent Bianca to drag me back, and nothing in the future had changed. No, it was worse. Everything I saw -- Phoebe, you saw it, too. That was the whole reason I asked for Phoebe's help, to help Wyatt as he was, the brother I got, and it blew up in our faces."

"Chris," Phoebe said, "one thing I learned in my meditation was that there was still a chance. Yes, I'd go along with your plan B, but there was still a chance to change that future."

"Maybe it was Gideon all along, but you're guessing. What if it wasn't enough? What if the evil's still out there?"

"Then we will find it and stop it," Piper said. "Your future is not going to turn out this way. Not this time."

"And you're just going to take that on faith?"

"Well, short of Phoebe getting a premonition, we kind of have to."

"No, we _don't_." He said it with such force that his parents and aunts just stared at him. "Don't you get it?"

"Get what?" Paige asked for all of them.

With a heavy sigh, Chris rubbed his forehead and then admitted the truth. "Before I ... left, I was going to ask you to bind Wyatt's powers. I was trying to think of a way to convince you. I wasn't getting anywhere figuring out how Wyatt had been turned, who was responsible, let alone how to stop it, and I was running out of time. Always running out of time. But binding his powers? Nobody would ever be after him, and he couldn't hurt anyone else. Not magically, at least. So, what the Elders want to do..."

"Is what you want?" Piper asked.

"Yes. No. I didn't want it. I just couldn't see any other way, at least no other way that would be so sure to work. I can't tell the Elders they have no reason to be afraid. I can't tell them Wyatt can have his full powers and everything will be just fine. So what am I supposed to say to them?"


	26. Chapter 26

Chris had asked the question, but he dodged any answers by fleeing to the attic. After a moment of stunned silence at his confession, Piper had opened her mouth to speak, and Chris had cut her off.

"You know, I really have to go collect that stuff upstairs," he said, with a wave of his hands that warded off any words.

Just the slightest collapse in her posture told Chris that she wasn't going to insist he stay and hash this out. And that was the extent to which he'd ask permission. He didn't look at Leo.

Up in the attic, the books and papers lay on the floor, in more or less the same arrangement as they had lain on Wyatt's bed. The big, ancient book was open, with Chris's little notebook on top. Where he had sat on the bed in front of it, now he knelt on the attic's hardwood floor.

The floorboards creaked beneath him as he leaned forward and picked up his notebook. Pages with his own handwriting had acquired marks and margin notes in Wyatt's hand, until, in the latter pages, Chris was gone entirely and it was all Wyatt. And finally, there was Wyatt, writing out his own doom, words to describe the athame that killed him.

Then, nothing but empty pages.

Chris let the notebook drop to his knees and stared at the spread of books and papers before him. He'd come up here with the idea of going through this stuff, piece together what had happened, not only with Gideon, but maybe over the past months, too.

He tried to look at the notebook again. Its blank, lined pages blurred to white.

_I'm an only child._

He felt exposed, unprotected. There shouldn't have been anything new about that feeling. If there had ever been a time Wyatt had looked after him, it was long past. Then why did it feel like Gideon had destroyed a shield around Chris, as surely as he had destroyed Wyatt's?

Chris wiped his eyes. Wyatt would have told him he was being weak, and Wyatt would have been right. Chris couldn't give in to this, not when he had to go appear before the Elders -- and first figure out what he'd even say to the Elders.

He tried to focus on the spread of books and papers, and choose some other starting point than his notebook. All he could manage was to stare blankly. Maybe he'd just turn it all over to the Elders. Let them deal with the fallout.

"Where's Michael?" a voice snarled.

Chris whipped his head up to see a figure hulking over him. A demon. A big, muscled, displeased demon.

"Uh," Chris said, stumbling back as he got to his feet. "I think you've got the wrong house."

The demon narrowed its eyes. "That's the way it's gonna be, huh?"

He shot out something like a fireball, but it formed into a whip that wrapped itself around Chris's wrists, binding them together. The searing pain dropped Chris to his knees again. Though conscious of keeping the others in the house safe, Chris might have orbed out on pure instinct -- except now he couldn't.

The intruder said, "Don't play dumb. You're sitting here, surrounded by my master's property." He squatted and grabbed a loose sheet of paper. "There's his handwriting. Now, you either got this stuff from Michael, or else that Mero demon. I'll deal with that little runt, too, but Michael is going to pay. He got my master killed. And if you've got this" -- he shoved the paper in Chris's face -- "then you're on my revenge list, too."

"I swear, I don't know who you're talking about. I just found--"

Chris gave a sharp intake of breath as, with a squeezing gesture, the demon tightened the fiery bonds. The demon paced a few steps away, then glared at Chris.

"You want to tell me where Michael is, or do I get to torture it out of you?"

"Chris, sweetie?" Piper's voice came from just beyond the attic door.

The pain was intensifying, and Chris could only shake his head as if she could see him warning her off. But a second later, the door opened, and she was there, holding Wyatt.

"Hey!" she yelled, and raised her hands, a move made suddenly easier as Wyatt orbed out of her arms.

He left a trail of lights across the room that took him to the space between Chris and the demon. There, Wyatt reappeared, lost his balance, and plopped onto the floor. Beyond that, Chris didn't quite catch what, if anything, the toddler did -- certainly no forceful, coordinated gesture -- but the effects were familiar. A gust sent papers flying and scattering, even books sliding a few feet along the floor, but the energy was directed at the demon, who was shoved back before disappearing in a whirl of ash and embers. 

Chris felt the bonds holding him dissolve -- though the sense of relief was fleeting, overtaken by the agony of the burns they left behind.

"What the hell was that?" Piper asked, her hands still poised as if to blow up the demon. She might just as well have been asking what the hell Wyatt had just done as she was demanding an explanation about the demon in the attic. Then she took a closer look at Chris, who was holding out his scorched wrists, and she yelled, "Leo!"

He orbed in, and before he could speak, she ordered, "Chris. Heal him."

Feeling faint, Chris welcomed Leo, this once. Under the healing light, he felt his skin cool and saw the red-black burns on his wrists disappear. Still sitting in front of Chris, Wyatt twisted himself around to watch. 

Phoebe and Paige arrived in time to see Leo finish his work.

"What happened?" Phoebe demanded as Chris flexed his wrists after nodding his thanks to Leo.

Piper, hands on her hips, said, "There was a demon attacking Chris. It's gone now, vanquished, I think."

"Was it after you?" Leo asked Chris, who shook his head.

"He was looking for someone named Michael. I told him I didn't know any Michael, but he decided that meant I was protecting the guy."

Chris watched his parents exchange a look, and he took a guess.

"That was Wyatt's alias?" he asked.

Piper nodded. "He didn't want anyone but us to know who he really was. Did the demon say why he was after Wyatt?"

"Revenge, basically," Chris answered. "He said Michael got his master killed." 

Chris looked at the papers and books now scattered across the room, and wondered if he should mention what the demon had said about that. But what would be the point? So Wyatt had teamed up with demons to help him find the athame that killed him. They were all dead. Well, except for "that little runt," and if Chris was right about who that was, no harm in letting him be.

Piper finished the story for the others: "And Wyatt orbed over to Chris and ... the demon got vanquished. I'm not a hundred percent sure how."

"I'm pretty sure," Chris said. "It's a power that Wyatt will have in the future -- and I guess he's got it now, sort of. That was a baby version, literally. I've seen him wipe out a room of demons in one blast. Luckily, he couldn't use that power very often."

"Luckily?" Leo said.

"Yeah, luckily. He was powerful enough without the on-call ability to kill a roomful of enemies at once. Not when those enemies could be my friends."

Wyatt reached for Chris's notebook, picked it up and put a corner of it in his mouth. With a sigh, Chris took it away from him. Ignoring Wyatt's little whine at being deprived of a fun new toy, Chris began collecting the books and papers into a stack. Piper pulled a few chunky cardboard children's books down from a shelf and handed them to Wyatt, who tasted one and seemed to find them an acceptable substitute for the notebook.

As he worked, Chris continued, "The thing is, the power was _really_ emotion-based, more than any magic I've ever seen. He couldn't call it up whenever he wanted. It only came out when someone he loved was under serious threat."

"Like you," Piper said.

"Um, I guess. When we were younger..."

Then he got her point. Little Wyatt had just used that power, evidently for the first time, to save Chris -- the strange, not-Dad Whitelighter from the future who had previously rated being shut out with the shield.

"Anyway," Chris said, "in the future, he got to a point where, as far as I know, he never used the power anymore. At some point, he lost touch with the trigger. Protecting loved ones ... no longer his thing." _Kind of the opposite sometimes_ , but Chris kept that to himself.

Hefting the stack in his arms, Chris got to his feet. But he had missed something. Paige bent to pick up a stray piece of paper -- by the looks of it, the one the demon had half-crumpled while shoving it in Chris's face. She smoothed it out and Chris held out a hand to take it, but she paused and frowned at it.

"What is it?" he asked. "What does it say?"

"Uh. It's ..." She looked over at little Wyatt and shook her head slightly. "Just take it."

She added it to Chris's pile and turned away. He took a peek at it, and made out some scribbles about Greece and Canada. It was not Wyatt's handwriting on the crumpled page -- was it the handwriting of the dead demon's "master"? It seemed likely.

Chris awkwardly pulled the stack to his chest, trying to keep any sheets from slipping out. "I'll take these to the Elders. Unless you want to look them over first." 

He glanced over at Paige, who seemed to be intensely interested in studying a framed portrait of some ancestor that was propped against a wall. 

"What is all that?" she asked, barely turning in his direction.

"Stuff about the athame, the one Wyatt found for Gideon, and Gideon used to--" He couldn't finish that sentence. "It's Wyatt's research about it."

"Oh, okay," she said, her voice oddly light, almost breathless.

"Paige," Piper said, "what is it?"

Paige shrugged unconvincingly. "It's nothing. I mean, it's disturbing, right? Wyatt finding that athame for Gideon."

That was enough to distract Piper and Leo, at least, from asking any more questions, though Phoebe still watched her younger sister curiously.

Piper said, "That's why it'll be good for the Elders to see it. Evidence right here of how far Gideon was willing to go."

Chris nodded. "I'll take it with me."

He straightened up, preparing to orb right then and there, but Leo interrupted.

"I'm supposed to take you to the Elders," he said.

"What? No, not necessary, Leo. I know my way, thanks."

"The Elders ordered it."

"You sure? Because I'm thinking you want to make sure I say the right thing."

"Chris," Piper said. "That's not fair."

Phoebe had moved over to Paige, and now plucked at her sleeve. "Hey, why don't you and I go talk or ..."

Paige nodded, and with one last glance at Wyatt, who was now engrossed in the picture books, she followed Phoebe out. Chris didn't really feel the need for this argument to be private. And he hadn't had a chance to talk to Phoebe all day, to hear from her all the things she knew, everything she couldn't say when silenced under that wish. What had Wyatt done here in the past? How much had she told Piper and Leo?

Leo repeated, "The Elders ordered me to bring you up there. They want me to be there if your testimony raises any questions for me."

Chris believed him, but didn't feel any better about it.

"And," Piper said, "I'd rather have your father looking after you, instead of you going into this alone."

"I don't think I'll be in too much danger."

"I'm not taking anything for granted anymore."

Chris looked between his parents. "I know what you want me to do," he said. "But I'm not talking about punishing Wyatt, or getting some kind of revenge on him. I'm just saying..." He felt the lump in his throat rising again, and heard the strain in his own voice. "If he loses his powers -- that will completely change the future. He won't have to die."

Piper came to him and pulled him into an awkward side hug, reaching around his armful of research. She gently put his head to hers as she stood on tiptoe.

"I wish I knew what to tell you," she said. "The future -- that's your aunt Phoebe's area."

"So I should ask her?" he said with a sad chuckle as she let go of him.

"Well, I can tell you that in that vision she had -- the one where she recognized you for the first time -- she said it looked like a good future."

"But how do we get there?"

"I don't know," Piper said. "But whatever you decide -- I trust you."

Leo had silently stood back, and now Chris turned to him. "Let me guess," Chris said. "You're going to tell me to have a little faith in my brother."

Leo shook his head. "I don't think I need to. I think, by coming here, you've more than shown you have faith in Wyatt. But maybe you need to have a little faith in the universe. A little faith in yourself -- that you did the right thing, and that despite everything, you saved him."

* * * *

Chris had been vaguely picturing a crowd, every single Elder weighing in on this, but it was, in fact, a tribunal of three, two men and one woman, in their white and gold robes. Another Elder relieved Chris of the pile of research and bowed out.

The three Elders didn't introduce themselves, but Leo (now clad in his own robes -- as long as Wyatt's fate hung in the balance, he'd keep up appearances) said in Chris's ear: "That's Sandra, Zola and Odin." The slightest pause before the third name told Chris to be wary.

The trio directed Leo to a chair off to the side, leaving Chris to stand in the center and face them alone. In the white hall, he was a lone spot of dark color, feeling ordinary and small in the jeans and green hoodie his mother had washed for him.

Odin spoke first, his voice sharp: "For the record, your name is not Chris Perry, is it?"

"But that is my name."

"Leo tells a different story."

"Leo doesn't know a lot. Perry is my middle name."

Odin pursed his lips before asking, "And your last name?"

"Halliwell."

"Wyatt Matthew Halliwell is your older brother?"

"Yes. Can we get to the point?"

Zola, who had more of that aura of calm Chris usually associated with Elders, chimed in. "It's important to get the truth established. For the record."

"Then, for the record, yes. Wyatt is my brother."

"And yet," Odin said, "you misrepresented yourself to us when we allowed you to become the Charmed Ones' Whitelighter."

"You know as well as I do that I had to keep as much future knowledge to myself as I could while still doing my work. And that applies to this meeting, too."

"Your 'work,' " Zola said. "That's what we need to discuss. You claimed you came to the past to stop a demon coming after Wyatt. Why?"

"He's my brother. Do I need a reason beyond that?"

"The sisters and Leo were protecting him. So why this particular time, this particular demon?"

"Because I was led to believe this demon had a particularly bad impact on the future. If it was a demon. Because maybe I was wrong. Maybe it was one of your own. Gideon."

"We have told Leo," Sandra said, "that Gideon was acting on his own. No other Elders condone what he did or even knew about it."

"Right," Chris said. "But some of you agreed with him. Just out of curiosity, does that include any of you three?"

None of them answered his question.

"It is true," Zola said carefully, "that some believe certain precautions may be necessary."

"Precautions like stripping Wyatt's powers."

Chris thought his tone was fairly neutral, but Zola seemed to take it as the opening of an argument.

"Gideon's actions were reprehensible, of course. But the actions of the Wyatt who came here from the future were troubling, to say the least."

"Look," Chris said, "I'm just trying to get the truth established. For the record."

That drew a slight smile from Leo as Chris caught his eye.

"No decision has been made yet," Sandra emphasized. "But he killed an Elder. Understand, we have to address this."

"But the present Wyatt didn't do those things."

"Yet," Odin said.

Chris thought of how, back in the attic, little Wyatt had saved him. That ought to have helped to settle his mind -- if little Wyatt hadn't had to save him from a threat grown Wyatt had somehow provoked. Meanwhile, Chris knew his needling of the Elders, pushing them to explained themselves in a way that made them think he was more certain than he was.

And so Zola was trying to be sympathetic: "We understand your desire to believe in your brother. But we can extrapolate from what we know and guess what kind of future you came from."

Following his lead, Odin switched to a persuasive tone. "We had hoped you, of all people, might see that this is a painless, fair way to deal with the bind we're in. Wyatt killed an Elder -- Leo and Paige have admitted as much. They said you were also a witness. Is that true?"

"More or less. Do you want all the gruesome details?"

"No," Odin said. "We want you to realize why we feel we must act."

"Not all of us have made up our minds on taking this action," Sandra said sharply.

Zola shifted slightly closer to her, sending the message that he shared her annoyance with Odin's presumption, and Odin's next words half addressed them as well as Chris: "You wanted to change the future. This is the surest way."

Just as Chris himself had told his family. He thought of Wyatt down in the Underworld, telling him that though they may rescue his younger self, that would not change who he was and would become. He thought of Bianca's words to him when she had come to drag him back home: "We were naive to think we could change anything. To stop him." Bianca, who had once so much faith in this plan, not because she had much cause to believe there was good in Wyatt, but because she believed in Chris. 

"You're the only one who can do this," she had told him, longer ago. "You're the only one who can save us."

Wyatt had crushed her belief and then killed her. And yet, and yet, before she died, she had left Chris with a last charge: "If you can finish what we started..."

The Elders had been waiting in stillness, silently letting Chris consider their proposition.

"You know," Chris said slowly, "I'm getting a feeling of déjà vu here. Because yesterday, another Elder was asking me to see his point of view on Wyatt, asking me to help. He was asking me to help kill a child. Like if I became his accomplice, it would make it all right. And now you think if you get my support on this, maybe you can overrule any objections from my family."

"The final word on this decision does not belong with your family," Odin said.

"Yeah, but it would be easier for you, because I know the future and I know how bad it can get, right? Maybe I do. But maybe I don't, not anymore. See, that's the thing. You strip his powers, and you'll prevent all the evil he could do. But you might also prevent all the good he could do. I get it: it's a tough call. But I'm not going to make it for you. Just like Gideon, you're going to have to do it the hard way. All on your own." 

Sandra and Zola maintained their somber Elder facades, but Odin's displeasure was breaking through again. 

Glancing at Leo, whose smile was surer, warmer, Chris continued: "Let me just tell you that yesterday I brought a baby home safely to his family within an hour of his kidnapping. In the time I came from, an Elder, someone who's supposed to be the epitome of goodness, tortured him for weeks. You never stopped that, but I did. My brother and I did. You can ask yourself what this new Wyatt is destined to grow up to be. But some might say he and I saved the world yesterday."

Zola leaned over and said something in Sandra's ear. She nodded gravely, and Odin, watching this private conference, crossed his arms under his gold and white robes.

"Leo," Sandra said, "is there anything you would like to add? Or ask?"

"No. I think Chris has said what needed to be said."

"Good," Odin said. "Then the only business left is sending Chris back to his own time."

"What?" Chris and Leo said in unison.

Leo sprung up and took Chris's side.

"The sisters have a spell," Leo said. "They were going to use it for Wyatt, but it will work for Chris just as well. Once the family is ready..."

"No," Odin said. "We will send him back now."

"Is this some kind of punishment because he won't dance to your tune?"

"Of course not," Sandra said. "This decision was made before he arrived."

Odin said, "As you told us time and again, he doesn't belong in this time. More than once, you petitioned us, arguing quite strenuously that we send him back to his own time. What were your words? 'He's doing more harm than good'? You were right."

Chris's mouth dropped open as he turned to stare at Leo in disbelief. No, not disbelief. This was all too easy to believe. What was crushing him was the feeling of having every suspicion about his father validated.

His face reddening, Leo met Chris's eyes but quickly looked away, toward the trio of Elders -- more toward Sandra and Zola than toward Odin. He pressed them: "I can't believe this. This family is grieving, and needs to be together, and you're going to yank him away from us, without even letting the sisters say goodbye, without letting his _mother_ say goodbye--"

"The family still has him, as I understand it," Odin said. "Or they will in, what is it, seven months?"

The other two Elders seemed to be suppressing annoyance at Odin's lack of tact, and Zola again aimed for sympathy, if not actual help. "We know it's not ideal, Leo. But you were right about the dangers of meddling with timelines, and that was before your other son was here for weeks, involving himself in the Charmed Ones' work, interacting with his younger self, and helping Gideon. And then this one returns, and within a day ... well, you know how much has gone wrong."

"Not just an Elder's death, but the death of the future Wyatt as well," Sandra said. "For Chris's own sake, and for the sake of your two sons as they are today, Chris has to go back to where he belongs, without delay."

"And how do you plan to do that?" Leo asked. "Back when I" -- a darting glance at Chris -- "when we discussed it before, you weren't sure if you _could_ send him back."

"Just because you stopped bringing the subject up once Wyatt arrived, it doesn't mean we did," Odin said. "We three were chosen to hear this matter in part because we have worked out a way to do this."

Leo's jaw was tight as he said, "Can I at least say goodbye -- in private?"

Chris resisted the urge to reject this suggestion. Alone time with Leo was the last thing he wanted, but he did need to give him a message, and not with Elders hovering nearby. So on that score, he was glad when the trio, after a brief, silent consultation, orbed out of the room.

As an alternative to looking at Leo, Chris raised his eyes to the infinite whiteness above him. "Well," he said, "this should be awkward."

"Chris, I'm sorry, it was supposed to be--"

"You know, just forget it, Leo. I get the picture. You had Wyatt here for months and you welcomed him with open arms."

"Wyatt told us who he was."

Chris faced him head-on. "Yeah, that's kind of the point, isn't it? You had no family ties, no obligation, you just had me."

"I ..." Then Leo shook his head, seeming to give up on finding the right thing to say. "Do you have anything you want me to pass along to your mother and aunts?"

"Just tell them ... tell them they'll see me again soon." _Even if I don't see them again, ever._ Maybe if they had been here, Chris could say more, but not with Leo in the middle. The only other thing was a practical matter. 

Chris said, "And tell Phoebe, a spell to pull someone from the cosmic void -- it's in the Book of Shadows, if she wants to use it."

Maybe Phoebe had told her sisters and Leo about Cole, or maybe Leo didn't want to risk setting Chris off by questioning him, but all he did was nod and say, "I'll tell her."

"Then there's not much more to say, is there? You might as well call them back."

Leo's hand came up as if to grasp Chris's arm, but he jerked it back when Chris drew away. Leo sighed and, his brow furrowed, asked, "Are you sure you're ready?"

"I don't have a choice."

"I could tell them--"

"Did they look like they were ready to negotiate? Hey, you're the one that convinced them. Let's just get it over with."

Leo stopped arguing, and closed his eyes -- evidently communicating with the Elders, because the three returned in orb clouds.

"I'm ready," Chris told them.

"How will we know if he's safe?" Leo asked.

"We can't know," Odin said. "He will be as safe as the future is, no more, no less."

Chris thought of the future he had left, with the Manor at the bottom of a vast, hellish pit. "Wait!" he said. "Where exactly are you sending me, I mean, physically?"

"The Halliwell Manor, we assumed," Zola said. "If you want to choose a different place..."

"No. It's fine." It might end up a literal leap of faith, but if that part of the future hadn't changed, he could just orb to safety, right? And if the house was still standing, Chris wanted to know right away, to feel it solid beneath his feet.

"Leo," Odin said, "we'll summon you after--"

"I am not leaving him to go through this alone," Leo said, glaring at all three of them.

"Very well," Sandra said with a firmness that was clearly directed at Odin, who pressed his lips together in disapproval, but didn't raise any more objections.

Seeming to obey an unspoken order, Leo walked away, until he was behind the three Elders as they stood side by side in front of Chris. The set-up was suddenly disturbingly like facing a firing squad. Chris braced himself, drawing his shoulders up, as they closed their eyes and in unison stretched out their arms toward him. They did not speak or chant, but the white light of the room was becoming blinding. Chris could still see Leo, and suddenly couldn't find the heart to feel any vindication at his plain anguish. Then his father's face was washed out by the light and vanished into it.

Walking through the portal had never been like this. Nor was it the swirl of gentle lights that had carried him through time with Phoebe's spell. All sight, all sound was gone; Chris couldn't even see his own body. Like all else, it was enveloped in that powerful white light. He screwed his eyes shut against it, and waited for whatever came next.


	27. Chapter 27

The white glare was dimming, but Chris kept his eyes shut, not daring to trust the sensation of solid ground beneath his feet. But all the aches and pains from the various bruises Leo hadn't known to heal -- they were gone. The fuzziness of exhaustion that his long sleep hadn't completely cured was evaporating.

He hoped that didn't mean he was dead.

"Uh, what are you doing?" a girl's voice asked.

His eyes flew open to see a stranger standing a few feet in front of him -- a teenager, by the looks of her, and amused by the sight of him.

The sight of him ... in the attic. The girl faced him across the podium where the Book of Shadows lay open. Whenever he was, whoever she was, the Manor was still standing, solid and aboveground. The sun shone through the stained glass windows.

Chris looked down at himself. He wasn't wearing the green hoodie and jeans anymore. Jeans still, but with a dark buttoned shirt. But however physically restored he might be, there was the tiny issue of not knowing who this girl was, though he suspected he should know. Like an old car, something in his brain seemed to be grinding, unable to change to a new gear.

You'd think the Elders' brilliant solution to send him home might include giving him some memories of what home was.

"Did you find it?" the girl asked.

Chris just managed to avoid saying, "Find what?" Keeping his mouth shut seemed the wiser course -- the course least likely to make him look insane, anyway. Instead, he looked down at the Book of Shadows, and what he saw there surprised him.

"Whoa. I think I did find it."

The girl moved around to his side. Chris instinctively put his hands on the Book, as if to protect it. She frowned at him and picked up his hands to move them out of her way -- touching the Book as she did so. That meant she wasn't evil. Probably.

Leaning over the Book, she said, "It's this Andras guy? Power of Three spell." She nodded. "Bet we can do it, no problem."

"We?" He stared at her.

"Oh, come on, don't you start. You know I'm perfectly capable of--"

"Melinda." It was not memory. It was simple knowing, because this was a fact of his life: "I have a sister."

Her eyebrows shot up. He had said that aloud. Oops.

"Yes," she said slowly. "You do. And she's wondering if you've screwed up another potion."

He was defending himself before he half knew what for. "Hey! One potion -- one potion! -- goes wrong, and I'm never going to hear the end of it?"

She smirked. "Nope."

And like another piece of puzzle fitting into place, he knew that a couple of weeks ago, he had been experimenting with a new vanquishing potion that had somehow got messed up and turned him giddy and giggly. Melinda had barged in on this and had found it really entertaining -- maybe the fumes got to her, too -- until the potion exploded all over her favorite shirt.

She said now, "I mean, what did that whole thing prove? That you need to stop being ridiculous about doing everything on your own. Obviously you can't manage without me."

"Obviously."

She left his side to pull a paper and pen from the drawer of a small wooden cabinet -- hadn't that been turned to splinters in the fight with Wyatt? Chris tried not to think of what piece of furniture, broken in the battle, had impaled Bianca.

Melinda returned to the Book and started to copy the vanquishing spell for Andras. "Admit it," she said, "you can't do this one by yourself, anyway."

"And the two of us will be enough?"

"I didn't say that. Didn't you call--"

She was interrupted by the sound of orbing, and she gave a nod and said, "I see you did," as the lights formed into...

Wyatt. He was alive.

And he had just _orbed_ in.

"Hey," he said. "You found a way to vanquish whatever this thing is?"

Melinda tapped the page in the Book of Shadows and returned to copying. Chris just stared. His joy at the simple fact -- _Wyatt is alive_ \-- was mingled with a trace of fear that was long engrained. Melinda seemed utterly unconcerned, but what if she was fooled, what if nothing Chris had done, nothing the Elders had done, had really made a difference, and Wyatt knew, knew Chris was back and--

"So what's the deal?" Wyatt asked, directing his question at Chris.

Chris blinked and found his voice, sort of. "Uh, Andras. Is the demon. I got a tip he's, uh, looking to do some large-scale damage."

"How large?"

_The ground crumbling beneath Chris's feet as he orbed out just in time ... regrouping at the Pyramid, with not all of their party accounted for, taking in the full panorama of destruction, a miles-wide pit where neighborhoods had been..._

As the images flashed through his mind, Chris said aloud, "Half of San Francisco, if he succeeds."

"Yikes," Melinda said. "How imminent is this danger?"

"Good question," Chris said. "Hang on a second. I need to check something."

He orbed to the basement -- and found nothing down here but the usual boxes and stored decorations and Leo's tools. No ominous ritual circle of stones and desiccated animal corpses. Chris returned upstairs.

"Not too imminent," Chris announced. "I'm pretty sure, anyway. We're on more of a preventative mission."

"You made it sound like an emergency," Melinda said.

"Well, it will be if we don't do something." 

Chris was suddenly feeling like ... like what? Oh, he recognized it: feeling the same old frustration from when he was the Charmed Ones' Whitelighter and had to constantly badger them to take their duties seriously. He thought maybe his siblings weren't quite so resistant, but one experience was feeding the other.

And Wyatt obviously noticed Chris's annoyance. "Okay, okay, little brother, we're taking you seriously," he said, briefly clapping Chris on the shoulder. "We're on it."

Chris was again staring as Wyatt went over to look over Andras's page in the Book of Shadows. This man was a stranger. It wasn't just the clean-cut appearance. Shorter hair, clean-shaven, light clothing, and, strangest of all, that open, cheerful expression. 

But just like Chris had known Melinda, now he also knew this Wyatt, his older brother, who was known for his good nature, his kindness despite his great powers. _It worked._ Despite everything that had gone wrong along the way, Wyatt had been saved. A kind of dazed, wondrous laugh escaped Chris as the miracle of it hit him.

Wyatt looked up, frowned at Chris, then directed his words to Melinda: "Oh no. He didn't try to make that potion again, did he?"

Chris threw up his hands as Melinda giggled.

"You know," she mused, "maybe your face is just funny. I've got to give him that."

In his mind's eye, Chris saw a Wyatt who would -- if he allowed them to live -- throw someone across the room for that kind of disrespect.

This Wyatt just rolled his eyes, still smiling. "You know, I left work early for Chris's 'preventative emergency,' not to get abuse from you two."

"Aww," she said, coming over and squeezing him in a side hug. "Don't worry, we love your funny face."

"Thanks, I guess. So, Chris, what next?"

Chris realized he could either flail about in the rush of confusion and competing emotions, or he could let himself be carried along on this current, this life that was new and, bit by bit, familiar. Better to choose the latter. So he answered: "Andras has got a thing for mass destruction, and he needs vanquishing before he sets things in motion that no one, not even Andras himself, can stop."

"So where do we go?" Melinda asked.

"The Underworld."

"That means there's no 'we' that includes you, Melinda," Wyatt said. "Mom would kill us."

 _Mom is alive._ Chris's sailing in the current hit a bump as he let that knowledge sink in while Melinda argued.

"Come on, you need me. Chris is going on about half of San Francisco destroyed, and you're going to risk it because you're afraid of Mom?"

"Not a risk, because we can handle it without you."

She held up her piece of paper. "It's a Power of Three spell."

Wyatt looked to Chris, who didn't feel informed enough to have an opinion. So he just shrugged, which got him a curious tilt of the head from Wyatt before he turned back Melinda.

"Fine," Wyatt said. "But if by tomorrow Mom has killed us, don't blame me."

Chris decided, however piecemeal his memories felt right now, that he would trust he could orb them to the right spot. He knew he had succeeded when he saw, not Andras, but a pacing, fretting Penka -- alive again himself, and immediately complaining.

"I just want some peace and quiet in my life," he told Chris. "This is the last time you're pulling me in, I swear -- you leave me standing guard over ground zero."

Melinda said, "Wasn't it you who called Chris on this one?"

Penka scowled at her, and Chris said, "Why don't you just tell us what you know and then get out of here?"

"Fine, fine. Andras is in there -- and he's not alone. There are about four, five other demons? He's ticked that he can't get more. Honestly, I don't know why he thinks anybody would be on board. My own lair would be destroyed, and it's not the only one. Anyway, they've been talking over how to break into your house, the Charmed Ones' house, because Andras wants to use the Nexus. A bigger boom, if you get my drift. But they haven't got too far. There. Can I go?"

"Yeah, that's fine," Chris said.

"Hey, thanks for helping," Wyatt said.

Penka darted a look toward him, and Chris noticed how skittish Penka was around Wyatt. More skittish than his normal state, that is. Chris was remembering now: The few times Penka had met Chris's siblings, he would sometimes talk to Melinda, though she'd mock him and he'd pout. But, for whatever reason, Penka had apparently decided to deal with Wyatt by pretending he wasn't there.

And so, Penka coughed slightly and addressed only Chris: "Let me know when it's safe for me to go home, will you?"

He shimmered out, and Wyatt shook his head. "That is one strange little demon hanger-on you got there, Chris."

"And it looks like I'm stuck with him." _No matter what timeline._ "Ready? Take out the minions, get Andras down, and then go for the spell?"

Aside from having no reason to protect his mind against a Mero demon (wherever Caza might be in this time, she wasn't second-in-command to an evil overlord), this Andras was just as overconfident but with a lot less backup. Melinda took out the first demon, announcing their arrival with a potion hurled at the back of the nearest.

She was also the only one who got hurt in the melee. Chris saw her successfully dive out of the way of a fireball -- unfortunately, right in the direction of another demon, something with claws that tried to grab her, slashing her leg as she used her levitation power to get out of its reach. Chris thought she was safe, and he was finally close enough now -- he turned his full attention to sending Andras flying with a blow of telekinesis. Andras slammed into a rock wall and dropped to the ground, probably not vanquished, but at least dazed enough that he'd stay in place for the spell. Then Chris whirled around as he heard Melinda give a startled screech.

She was in the air, but the clawed demon had her ankle. Wyatt had been fighting nearby, but now his combatant was sent spinning in the air and to the ground with orbing-telekinetic energy. With that, Wyatt just stood still and said in a suddenly deep voice: "Enough!" He put out his hands, palms forward, and Chris scrambled for cover -- though some reasonable part of him knew he didn't have to -- as the energy rushed over him.

Chris was not hurt. Melinda was not hurt. Neither was the still-unconscious Andras against the wall, but all his demons were gone, turned to ash dotted with red sparks that almost instantly faded. Chris held his breath and screwed his eyes shut just in time as the remains of a nearby demon blew over him.

Melinda dropped to the ground, a little clumsily. "You know, Wyatt, it would be great if you could summon up that power _before_ someone gets injured."

Wyatt came up to take her arm as she hobbled on one foot. "Hey, I'm working on it, but it doesn't feel like I ever can. Emotion-based powers, remember?" He spoke again in his normal tone -- what was normal for this time. It suddenly struck Chris how his brother's voice was lighter, even slightly higher.

Across the chamber from them, Chris stood, a little unsteadily, told them, "Andras is down."

"I saw that," Wyatt said. "Good job."

Seeing Wyatt use that blast of power again, within hours of watching the little one in the past try it out for the first time ... Chris felt tossed about in the current again, knocking into rocks while the other two sailed on smoothly, obliviously. 

Andras groaned, stirred, and began to push himself up, just on the verge of getting to his knees -- when he just stopped. Frozen in place, just like ...

"Uh oh," Melinda said. "Busted."

"Busted is right," came their mother's voice.

Piper stood at the entrance to this Underworld chamber, her hands still raised, with Phoebe and Paige flanking her.

Piper looked older than Chris had ever seen her. In the life he had left, she hadn't lived to age eight more years, and she was beautiful.

Oh, and also pissed at her children. She strode over and snatched the Power of Three spell out of her daughter's hand. Melinda tried subtly to angle herself to keep her injured leg out of Piper's sight.

"Wow," Melinda said. "So how'd you guys found out about this? Same source as Chris's?"

"Probably not," Phoebe said as she and Paige walked over. "We've been on the lookout for this dude for a long time." 

She glanced over at Chris, and it looked like an electric jolt hit her. She bugged her eyes out at him, and then her shock quickly changed to concern.

 _Empathy power_ , Chris realized. This version of himself never saw fit to take a potion to block Phoebe, and Chris could well imagine the mess of emotions roiling off him, surrounded here by previously dead relatives and one previously nonexistent one.

Meanwhile, Piper was picking up the thread Phoebe had dropped.

"We decided it was time to make a move anyway, when your aunt had a premonition of the three of you failing to make a vanquishing spell work against Andras."

Wyatt tried a conciliatory tone. "You're supposed to be retired, Mom."

"Did I mention the failing? It's a Power of Three spell."

"We've made them work before."

"Well, you're not going to be able to make this one work. Now move out of the way."

The freeze broke on Andras, and he lost his balance, landing on the ground again with a grunt that turned into the start of a furious growl -- until Piper froze him again.

"Once he's gone," she said, "we'll discuss how you brought your sister to the Underworld."

Still at a remove from the group, Chris recognized that Wyatt was shielding the hobbling Melinda from their mother's view. Less easy to read was the odd, brief look he exchanged with Paige as the sisters stepped up. She had been unusually quiet, and Wyatt -- did he look apologetic? -- gave her an almost imperceptible nod, which she answered with a small tightening of her lips that was almost, but not quite, a smile. Then Paige joined Piper and Phoebe in reciting the spell:

_We three witches,_  
 _Let our voices unite._  
 _Bring death to him,_  
 _End his ruin and night._

Andras went up in a burst of flames. Chris recalled Cole's fireballs thrown into that crystal cage in the Manor, but this time Andras did not survive, singed and smirking -- he was gone for good.

"Now," Piper said to Wyatt, "before we head back home, why don't you heal your little sister."

Melinda, with a sigh, propped her injured foot up on a nearby boulder, and Wyatt did what he was told. The healing light glowed in the dank Underworld chamber.

Melinda waggled her lower leg around as Wyatt stepped back. "See?" she said. "Good as new, no harm done."

"Yeah, we'll see about that," Piper warned her. She held out her hand to Wyatt. "Back to the Manor, let's go."

But before anyone moved, Paige shouted, "Fireball!"

It wasn't a warning. It was deflection. A fireball headed right into their band reversed course and instead slammed into the demon who had thrown it. The demon -- a straggler minion, probably -- went up in flames where he stood at the entrance of the chamber.

"And that," Phoebe said, "is where my premonition showed things really going south for you guys. You were caught off guard."

The vanquish seemed to have revived Paige's spirits; she definitely smiled this time and said, "Oh hey, you're welcome!"

"Thank you, Aunt Paige," Wyatt said, and Melinda echoed the sentiment with a little bow, hands pressed together.

Chris looked down at the ritual set-up, the same arrangement that had been in the Manor's basement, and announced to all: "I'm getting rid of this stuff. I don't know about your source, but mine knew that Andras had a whole ritual thing he needed to do to carry out mass destruction. Do you want it left lying around here for some other demon to experiment with?"

As Chris grabbed a cloth -- looked like a cape -- among the stuff this band had left behind, Phoebe was zeroing in on him. "Why don't you let someone else take care of it? You need to--"

"Don't worry, I know my way around and I won't be in any danger." That wasn't why Phoebe wanted to divert him, and he knew it, so Chris addressed Piper instead. "I'll drop it all in a fiery pit somewhere, then come home right away."

With the ritual junk now bundled into the cape, he orbed out. 

Chris wondered if he knew the Underworld this well in this life, but no matter -- he knew it now, with a full slate of memories of this place. He found one of those pits where fires roared from the depths, and he tossed over the bundle, which flared as it hit the flames. 

The errand had needed doing, yes, but Chris also needed to catch his breath, to get a moment alone, even if it was perched over a fiery pit in the Underworld.

Seeing people, talking to them, moving through this world around him -- that seemed to be the key to slotting himself back into this life he was supposed to know. Maybe this was the Elders' solution to the problem of his memory. They might have warned him. Maybe they hadn't thought it was important either way. _Toss him back into the future where he belongs, let him sink or swim._

The past hour's toll on his brain was turning into a headache, and he could blame the Elders for that, but if he could get past that, the upsides of this life were all around him. Chris headed for the Manor, arriving in the entrance to the sunroom, where the argument, mother versus offspring, continued.

"You could at least wait until she's old enough to drink before carting her off to the Underworld," Piper was saying to Wyatt. 

Slouched in a wicker chair, looking up at her mother and brother, Melinda interjected, "I'm old enough to vote. And you can't expect me to sit everything out while Wyatt and Chris go off saving the world."

"You see how she is," Wyatt said, more amused than defensive. "I didn't invite her, but she wasn't going to let us leave her behind. Okay, I'm glad Aunt Phoebe had her premonition and we didn't get killed, but we've talked about this. You deserve to retire, get your normal life, and that means you've got to let us work out how to deal with Power of Three problems without the Power of Three."

Piper sighed. "But do you have to go rushing into it? Into the Underworld, no less. They need to card witches at the door: 21 and older. That's it. And it's not like Andras was invading the house. We haven't had demons coming here lately, so you've got to go find some?"

Wyatt swept an arm toward Chris with a grin. "Meet my brother, and enjoy his latest round of get the demon before it thinks about getting us."

Piper shared his smile as she looked at Chris across the room. "Oh, I am all too familiar," she said wryly.

"I had to leave work early for this preventative emergency, so I've got to head back and finish a few things up."

"Or you could stick around for dinner," Piper said.

"How about I come back." Wyatt gave her a quick hug. "Don't worry so much, okay?"

As soon as he orbed out, Melinda smacked her hands on the armrests and pushed herself out of the chair. "So we're done here?" she said.

"For now."

"Great!" Heading out of the room, she said to Chris, "You missed practically the whole lecture. Doesn't seem fair."

"I can start up again if you want," Piper said.

"Nope, it's fine!" she called back, already headed upstairs.

Piper told Chris, "Phoebe and Paige went home, though Phoebe said she needs to talk to you. Fair warning."

"Did she say about what?"

"No, but she hasn't really cornered you since last week, so..."

Chris nodded slowly. "Last week" was supposed to mean something to him, obviously. It didn't.

Piper cocked her head. "Sweetie, are you okay?"

He could just tell her. Tell her he didn't remember last week, or why Phoebe might want to talk about it, but it might come to him later. Why not just spill it...

He shook his head. "It's not about last week. I'm just tired."

"Go on then," she said. "And Melinda's right -- you're lucky I'm going easy on you."

Relaxing into the moment, he returned her smile. "I know how lucky I am."


	28. Chapter 28

Now Chris just had to find his room. He took the stairs, jogging up as if he were confident in his direction. And he was, sort of. His feet took him to the same old room he had occupied growing up, before Wyatt had changed the house into a museum.

Chris opened the door without knocking and knew immediately the room was still his -- whether by luck or memory, he had avoided barging into his sister's room unannounced.

Demon ashes caught the sunlight and drifted to the floor as Chris changed out of his dirty clothes and into something clean he found rifling through his own familiar-not familiar wardrobe. Then he sank onto the bed and took a good look around him.

He was a stranger to himself.

But the room was coming into focus as his own, cluttered in a way that he found comfortable and his mother had long despaired at. A small desk was piled with both magical items and school stuff. _I'm a college student_ , he realized. _Do I have homework? Tests I should be studying for?_

His schedule on a tablet told him he did indeed have a test on Monday. He found photos and as he flipped through them, faces stirred memories that he hoped would grow stronger once he saw these people in person. All cousins he knew from that other life seemed accounted for, plus a pair of twins who were new to him but belonged to Paige and her husband, who was not Kyle, but an unfamiliar face. Henry. And Kyle Jr. was there, but was now Henry Jr., which was weird. And Phoebe ... encountering Cole had not set her on a new track. Her husband was still Coop, their children still the same. And Parker was alive. Had she still given Wyatt that necklace?

In another set of photos, almost everything was unfamiliar -- his friends, his hangouts, and, oh crap, his girlfriend. Emily. No, wait, it came to him: ex-girlfriend. So that was the deal with "last week." She had dumped him, after a few months of dating, for someone else. Huh. He had been upset about that. Now, though, he was indifferent -- no resentment, no regrets. Only relief that he wouldn't have to explain his state of mind to her. He deleted the picture, but another one of her popped up. He sighed and shut the device down.

Cole said that Chris hadn't exactly thought through the implications of changing the timeline, whether it was the danger of wiping out his own existence, or considering what would happen to Cole. (What had happened to Cole?) Cole had been wrong, though. Chris _had_ thought about those things, but then ignored them as problems to be dealt with later -- more avoidance and stubborn denial than anything else.

But when Bianca had drawn a promise from Chris that he'd come back to her -- that had been pure faith. Faith that they would be together in the world they had fought to save. _Come back to me, safely..._

But, instead, she had been erased from his life. Where was she? She had to be alive. The events that led to her death never happened. But if she had never rejected her Phoenix heritage, there could be a thousand ways she could end up dead anyway ... _No._ He couldn't think that. He had to believe she was alive.

There were ways, mundane and magical, he could try to find out, but he was afraid of what he'd discover.

He distracted himself by picking up a textbook. Psychology -- oh, this was the class with the test coming up. The test he was going to miserably fail.

Except, maybe not. He realized he had read this material before, and he had the weekend to get it all back to the forefront of his mind.

After all, Chris thought, if he could jump to the past, pretend not to know his family, ingratiate himself into their lives, convince them he helped them defeat the Titans, become their Whitelighter ... if he could do all that, he could do this.

And unlike throwing himself into the past, and unlike facing Wyatt and Melinda now, studying for a psychology test was simple, clear-cut and uncomplicated, comfortingly dull.

A knock came at his door, along with an inquiring call: "Chris?"

It was Leo. Chris froze, new memories, knowledge, whatever it was, surfacing in his mind. His parents had reunited. He was mostly glad about that. Whatever desperate measures he may have taken in the past, he really hadn't wished for their divorce.

There was one more soft knocking, and just when Leo was probably giving up and turning away, Chris suddenly decided to get this over with. He swung himself off the bed and opened the door to Leo's startled face. His _older_ face. He had aged. Leo was mortal. When he had said he was done with the Elders, he apparently had really meant it.

"Oh," Leo said. "You are here. Your mom wanted me to fix the light that's gone out in the hallway, and I may have to shut down the breaker that includes your room."

"Sure, I guess I can study in the dark."

"No, you don't have to -- that's why I'm asking." Leo picked up a ladder and set it up underneath the light. "I probably won't even need to."

It was perfectly reasonable, Chris knew that, and so he quashed another reflexive smartass response. "Fine, do what you need to -- just warn me if the lights are going out."

And Chris shut the door on him.

He planted himself in front of the book again, but it was hard to get back to studying. He leaned back on the headboard and listened to the occasional knocks and clinks of Leo at work, and the scrape of the ladder.

Chris was gathering a picture of a new set of circumstances. Leo's job as head of Magic School was demanding, sure, but didn't have the erratic hours of Whitelighter work. Chris had attended Magic School, and couldn't say he had been either neglected there or over-controlled. And Leo had never had to deal with his eldest son's descent and so never had the chance to be, in Chris's eyes, blind to it until it was far too late.

So why did resentment linger in the new timeline? Of course, it wasn't easy to let go of feelings built up over years, compounded by very fresh experiences of battling with Leo at every turn in Chris's sojourn to the past. But Chris knew it was more than that -- he just couldn't pinpoint why.

When Piper called him down to dinner, Leo was gone from the hallway. The light was dismantled, the ladder still out, tools left behind. The job wasn't done.

As promised, Wyatt came back. He didn't live here -- he had got his own apartment when he got his job -- but he usually joined them for dinner at least once a week, on those nights Piper wasn't at her restaurant. When she was working, sometimes family dinner was at Halliwell's, joined by various aunts, uncles and cousins.

Wyatt's apartment ... there had been talk that Chris would move there after graduation next spring. He had been excited about it: the independence, but still hanging out with his brother, and Wyatt enthusiastic about the idea, not least because he had had a succession of mortal roommates, which cut expenses, sure, but hamstrung magical practice. 

A dream of a better life come true. Chris just needed to shove aside memories of a Wyatt he was forced to fear, a Wyatt who had killed people Chris loved ... That's all it would take. Sort out two wildly different lives, pick the perfect one, that's all.

But this dinner was a good testing ground. Chris once again chose to float along in that current, and found it considerably easier to do here, while eating a homemade gourmet meal cooked by his mother, than he had battling Andras in the Underworld. He thought he managed to uphold his end of the conversation pretty well, considering, even being civil to Leo. To his relief, he found he could truthfully answer questions about his school life without hesitation -- _I got a B+ on that paper, better than I expected ... So glad that nightmare group project is over, don't even ask ... Yes, I've got next semester's classes picked out..._

But mostly he listened, letting knowledge related to other people's lives come as people got mentioned: this or that friend of Melinda's or Wyatt's, employees at Mom's restaurant, teachers at Magic School.

Dinner was winding down when Wyatt broached the topic of the afternoon's adventure -- in the form of reminding Chris that he had made a promise. 

"By the way, did you ever tell Penka the coast is clear?"

Chris had forgotten. "Oh ... right. Not yet. I've been a little distracted."

"The coast is clear for what?" Piper asked suspiciously.

"To go home. Penka was afraid his lair would get swallowed up if Andras's plan succeeded."

Their parents shared a look that said maybe it was time for Leo to weigh in on his children's misdeeds, and Melinda smacked Wyatt's arm.

"You had to bring it up," she said.

Wyatt just laughed. "Hey, I'm just worried about the little guy, roaming the streets homeless."

"Why should you worry? He doesn't even like you and makes sure you know it."

"I'm forgiving that way."

Chris stood up. "Fine. I'll call him now."

"No demons in the house, please," Piper said.

But Chris already knew she wouldn't appreciate bringing Penka into the Manor. Waving his assent to her, Chris headed for the front porch, where he recited Grams's old spell, memorized in every timeline.

_Creature low, vile and base  
Come right now to this place._

In a concentrated whirlwind, Penka materialized, trying to keep hold of something in his hands. It proved to be an ice cream cone, and Penka's shoulders sagged as the scoop dropped off and fell onto the porch.

"Well, that's just great," he said.

"Sorry. You wanted to be contacted this time, remember?"

"Can't you find some way to come to me instead? Never mind, you never will. Tell me I can go home, at least."

"You can go home. Andras is vanquished, along with his whole gang, and the stuff needed for the ritual is incinerated. The day is saved."

Penka pouted at his empty cone. "Hooray."

"Thank you for the tip."

"You're welcome. I suppose."

"And I promise I'll think about ways to find you besides Penny's spell."

That earned Chris a skeptical look, but Penka seemed a little mollified by the gratitude, at least. He regarded the ice cream melting on the porch and conceded, "I didn't even like that flavor. It had bacon in it. I was trying something new and it was not that great. So I'll let it go this time."

"That's gracious of you," Chris said, all the while thinking, _I shouldn't ask. Don't ask him, don't even bring it up._

He couldn't stop himself.

"So, uh, Penka, just out of curiosity, have you heard anything about Phoenix witches active in the area?"

"Phoenix witches? Never heard of them. But if they're witches, not demons, I wouldn't be able to read them anyway, you know."

"I know. I just thought, if you had heard any demons thinking about them ... it's nothing for you to worry about. I was just, um, reading about their coven recently and wondered if they were still out there. That's all. I'll let you go on home. Enjoy your peace and quiet."

After Penka left, Chris moved inside with the intention of finding something to clean up the spill on the porch. From the words he caught from the dining room, they had kept talking about the adventure with Andras, but it was less an argument than a low-key debate. From the entryway, Leo's back was to Chris as he leaned across the table toward Melinda, who was shaking her head at whatever he was saying. Next to her, Wyatt leaned back in his chair, relaxed and smiling. Piper was elsewhere, probably the kitchen.

As Chris came close enough to hear, Melinda was saying, "I've fought demons already. Now I've been to the Underworld. And I'm fine. Why should I have to wait? What difference does another two years make?"

"Well, it's another two years of your parents' peace of mind. You know what this family has lost."

"I know, I really do, but..."

"And there's more you don't know. We hope you never have to."

Chris now noticed that Wyatt had spotted him, watching him with an unreadable expression that gave way to a commiserating smile once he caught Chris's eye. The other two seemed still unaware that Chris was there.

"It would have been better to leave my brothers to deal with it on their own?" Melinda asked.

"When you saw there was a Power of Three spell, why not tell your mother and aunts? You would have found out they were already on it."

"Chris had inside information."

Leo sighed. "Chris sometimes gets ... overzealous. That doesn't mean you have to be pulled into it. And you got hurt..."

Darting a look at Chris again, Wyatt sat up straighter, moving a hand across the table as if to stop Leo from saying more. But Chris ignored that. He took the chair next to Leo, pulling it farther away but facing him, and sat down with his arms crossed.

Chris said, "Yeah, I can get 'overzealous' when I hear San Francisco might get swallowed into a black hole."

Melinda, who did not seem to share Wyatt's concern at the flare in tension, plowed on: "And so what if I got hurt? Wyatt healed me. I'm fine."

"You shouldn't have to count on that," Leo said. "What if Wyatt's not there? What if it doesn't work?"

"Dad..." Wyatt said in quiet warning as he looked between Leo and Chris.

And the truth hit Chris in a flash: "You blame me."

"I'm not blaming you, Chris. I'm saying all three of you made choices today that--"

"That's not what I'm talking about," Chris said sharply.

Wyatt had died in Leo's arms. A father didn't just get over that. Yesterday, Chris himself couldn't have known what was between them, but today, he could see clearly: _He knows it's my fault._

Chris stood as, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Piper enter the room, pausing at the doorway coming from the kitchen. But he only looked at Leo.

"You have never forgiven me."

"Forgive you for what?" Leo frowned up at Chris, uncomprehending, glancing over to Piper as if to see if she understood.

Wyatt interjected, "You know, Chris, Mom was on your case for the exact same thing this afternoon, and you didn't blow your top at her."

Chris shook his head. "You don't get it. You can't. Leo has--"

He cut himself off as he saw, out of the corner of his eye, Leo flinch at that. 

From the other end of the table, Piper spoke: "Leo?"

She wasn't speaking to her husband. It was a question, directed at Chris. He couldn't look at her. He couldn't look at Leo. He didn't want to see what understanding -- or misunderstanding -- might be dawning.

Wyatt was frowning, his head tilted slightly as he watched Chris, as though puzzling out a problem. 

Leo said, "There is _nothing_ to forgive, Chris."

"I don't believe you," Chris said.

When Leo moved to stand up, Chris backed away from the table. At that, Wyatt stood up himself, his chair scraping on the floor. 

"Okay, let's go," Wyatt said, walking around to Chris as Melinda, now the only one seated, watched, wide-eyed and baffled.

"Go where?" Chris asked.

"Wherever. But this is going to end with you storming out and me following to talk you down, so how about we skip it, and just go talk."

Chris was pretty sure Wyatt -- this not-dead stranger -- was the last person he wanted to talk to right now. Aside from Leo, of course. 

"I've got an idea," Chris said. "How about you not follow me?"

And he orbed out, just catching Melinda's voice as she said, "What was that all about?"

****

_This is still our spot._

The garden was as it was supposed to be: quiet, calm, intact. The lights of the city twinkled beyond, and Chris could just make out the angel statue, all one piece.

He had just enough time to settle on the stone bench and lean over with his head in his hands, when he heard Wyatt arrive.

Pulling his fingers down his face as he straightened up, Chris said, "I told you not to follow me."

"Yeah, well, I could have told you not to ruin dinner, but that's the way it goes, so ... here I am." Wyatt looked around curiously. "This place is new."

Chris shrugged. "Just a place I found. Quiet. _Alone_."

"Huh." He walked over to study the angel statue, peering at it in the dark. "You've been in a funk for the past week, and you always find a reason to argue with Dad -- but this is different. You've been acting weird since this afternoon." Leaving the statue behind, Wyatt came over and leaned against a pillar, resuming his study of Chris instead. "You want to tell me what's going on?"

"Not really," Chris said. "I can't explain it. I just can't, okay?"

"Why not?"

"Because you couldn't possibly understand. Don't give me that look. I mean it. You can't, believe me."

"Did you ever stop to think you're not alone in this?"

"Yeah, I know, I get it, my family cares about me."

"That's true, but that's not what I meant. You want to keep it all bottled up because you're so unique that no one can understand. But, you know, the last few days have been a little weird for me, too, and then the next thing I know, you start freaking out?"

"Maybe I have good reason to 'freak out.'"

"I don't doubt it. But what makes you think you're the only one who remembers?"


	29. Chapter 29

All Chris could do was stare and sputter out one word: "What?"

"Unless," Wyatt said, "I'm completely off base here. I've always wondered what, if anything, you might remember. For the longest time, it seemed like it was just me, but after the past few days, and what both you and Dad said ... maybe I do understand, and you can tell me what's wrong."

"What's wrong? What's wrong is that twenty-four hours ago, I was in the past. And this afternoon, the Elders unceremoniously dumped me back into my own time, except this is a whole different life they didn't fill me in on. My family's different, my life is different, and you -- I don't know you. But I'm supposed to figure it out all at once. And if you're saying you're going through the same thing, but you've got it all down already, congratulations on being way better at this than I am."

Wyatt frowned. "I'm not sure. This all just happened today for you? And you've got, what, amnesia?"

"Pretty much," Chris snapped, and then sighed and admitted, "No, not completely. Things are coming back to me pretty quickly. The point is, it's crowding into a life that I remember perfectly, and it's not this one." He gestured to the world all around them, the well-tended garden, that angel statue intact, the city glittering beyond.

"You remember it like it was real?"

"It _was_ real. So what are you talking about?"

"Not perfect memories of a whole other life, that's for sure. But ever since I was little, I would get these impressions, flashes. At first I didn't think of it as memories, but just stories. You know, just being a kid, with all the imaginary worlds that make sense to you when you're that age. I told you about some of it, but maybe you were too young to remember."

"And you never told anyone else?"

"No, I told Mom and Dad."

"Of course you did."

"Hey, not all of us are compulsive secret-keepers," Wyatt said with a grin. "Okay, there was a period of time when I didn't talk about it much. I stopped telling those stories after a while -- it didn't seem important enough to share. But as I got older -- the memories seemed to more or less coincide with whatever age I was. And the older I got, the worse they got."

Somewhere in there, the same Wyatt that Chris had known. Chris had to ask, "Like what? What do you remember?"

"Things you may not know, I'm guessing."

"Oh, I know a lot. You'd be surprised."

Wyatt paused, seeming to give it some thought before he offered: "Did you know that he -- that other Wyatt -- lied to you to get your blood for a potion?"

"I remember him saying he needed my blood -- and his own -- for a potion to vanquish the demon that killed Mom. That was a lie?"

Wyatt's eyes widened. "Wow," he breathed. "I didn't know Mom died."

"Lucky you. What was the blood really for? Buying off vampires or something?"

"Uh, no. It was for healing."

"Oh, that potion. He didn't think Whitelighters would heal him. He just told me about that -- by the time the potion wasn't doing him any damn good."

"Flashes like that, tricking you to do something like that, seemed bad enough. But I had no idea how much worse it could get. By the time I was a teenager, I could see how these echoes, these memories, whatever they were, were changing, and I decided it was time to talk to Mom and Dad."

"What did they say?"

"They told me what they knew: magical time travel, how older versions of both you and me showed up in the past when I was a baby and you weren't even born yet. They said a lot of things changed, thanks to all that. Different past, different future. But until very recently, I didn't understand why you didn't remember, though maybe you, being you, just weren't telling anyone."

Chris shook his head. "This all just hit me today. And I guess you're telling me I should confess to Mom and Dad."

"It can't hurt."

"Does anyone else know?" Chris asked.

Wyatt hesitated, and Chris could even imagine his face coloring a bit, though it was too dark to tell for sure.

"Well, a few days ago," Wyatt said, "I, um, may have gone to Uncle Henry and confessed to murder."

"You what? But none of that stuff happened now."

"Some of it did. In 2004, that other Wyatt was responsible for the deaths of two people. I remember what he did to them. I remember their names."

"What did Henry say?"

"He said he could hardly arrest me for murders that happened in two countries when I was a year old. Aunt Paige -- I talked to both of them -- she said she's suspected the truth for years. I think it still hit her hard to have it confirmed. And for all the time that Henry has spent around magic, he was still pretty disturbed. He is a cop, after all."

"But it wasn't you that killed them."

"That doesn't make June or Richard any less dead."

"But you had to know Henry couldn't arrest you. What did you hope to accomplish?"

"I don't know. With this one thing, maybe I could make amends. Help in some way, bring some closure on a couple of cold cases, for their families."

"Yeah, magical families. Richard's family had a real talent for holding grudges for generations, and backing those grudges with violence. I'm just glad you didn't go confess to them. We'd probably be in an all-out magical feud by now."

"You may be right."

"I was there for the peace negotiations for their last feud. I am right."

"Then I'll just have to keep on living with it. But at least it's over."

"What do you mean, over?"

"The Elders sent you back. But they didn't send me back. Like I said, these past few days have been weird. There's nothing left of that life for me to remember, is there?"

"No. He's gone."

Wyatt nodded. "After what came to me yesterday, I thought so."

"You remember dying?"

"No, I remember being stabbed and believing that nothing could save me. And it was a relief."

"A relief? For who?"

"For both of us. It felt like ... It's hard to explain. What Phoebe did connected us. And it was like he could turn it over to me. He thought he was just grimly facing facts, that he was mortally wounded, so he had to get as much done as he could before he couldn't fight off death anymore. But I know. By the end, he was relieved to give in."

"And you? You're relieved, too?"

"Yes. I've lived with him long enough."

Wyatt was somber, but unapologetic. And he had every right. Why wouldn't he be grateful to be rid of that ghost? Why would he mourn him?

"He died in front of me, you know," Chris said.

"I know. I'm sorry."

Chris pushed himself up from the bench, the knuckles of his clenched fists scraping on the stone. He paced briefly, looking for a target that wasn't there, before he directed his outburst at Wyatt: "I tried to get him to see sense, see how we could get Gideon or someone to heal him. But he wouldn't. Instead he used up every last bit of life he had to kill Gideon. Revenge was more important to him than living."

"I told you, he--"

"And you! You remembering? You weren't supposed to have to carry all this. And if you remember what he went through, the trauma that supposedly turned him, like Leo thought, how come you're not--"

"How come I'm not evil? I told you, it's just echoes. Bits and pieces, incomplete. It's not like I lived it."

"But why these 'echoes' at all?"

"Because he messed around in the past himself? Because he died there?" Wyatt sighed. "Honestly, I think what Phoebe did may have crossed back to me, actual me" -- he pointed to his chest -- "more than she meant it to. And before you start, that doesn't mean it's her fault or yours. It's like Dad said, and you ought to listen to him -- and give him a break -- there's no blame. You did the best you could."

"And it all blew up in my face."

"When _he_ dragged you back to the future. It's like Aunt Paige always says, magic may work in mysterious ways--"

"--but it always works," Chris recited without enthusiasm. 

"Yeah, maybe it does. These memories, echoes, whatever they are, what they've shown me ... I tell myself that person isn't me. But he is. I have a glimpse of the worst I can be, and it's really, really bad. So I try not to be that." Wyatt smiled. "I may overcompensate sometimes."

That drew a shaky laugh from Chris. "Yeah, I can see that."

"I hope you can also see in me what you wanted to save in him."

"But I didn't save him. Wyatt was the one who stopped Gideon. You saved yourself."

"That's not how I remember that day -- what I've remembered for a long time. It's my earliest memory, and it's my life, not his. I remember being trapped and scared. I remember someone freeing me and pulling me to safety. That's who saved me. Not him. And now I know -- it was you."

A jumble of memories came to Chris as if from a receding long-ago. Little Wyatt, the same kid who had thrown up his shield whenever Chris was near, now clutching his neck in the Underworld. The next day, that same Wyatt playing next to Chris as he slept, then later blowing away that demon in the attic. 

The child who had done all those things -- shutting Chris out for months, clinging to him for safety, protecting him in a moment Chris had been too distracted by grief to protect himself -- that Wyatt was here, grown up and standing in front of him. A strange thought, but one that made this brother, finally, not a stranger.

****

When Chris returned to the Manor, he orbed straight to the empty kitchen to grab a rag and a bowl of water, and then orbed to the porch, to finally clean up the ice cream mess. Down on his knees, he had just started when the porch light flicked on and the front door opened. It was Melinda.

She wrinkled her nose. "Ew. What happened here?"

"Penka dropped bacon ice cream here. My fault, actually."

"Isn't everything?"

He gave her a mock glare. "Shut up."

Melinda laughed and sat on the porch's stone ledge to watch him clean. "Your mood seems a little better, anyway," she said. "Did Wyatt find you?"

"Yeah."

"And you're okay? I mean, to be honest, Wyatt and I were worried about you this afternoon when you were acting strange -- you were, don't argue. Then you seemed better at dinner, till you flipped out at Dad. What gives?"

Finishing up, Chris leaned over the ledge next to her to dump the water in the bushes.

"I'm not sure myself," he answered with a sigh. "It was just ... I wish I could explain, but it's a really long story. Maybe later. Definitely not tonight. But I'll be fine." He kind of believed it now. "You don't need to worry about me, okay?"

"Okay." She reached up to pat his head. "I'd hug you, but your hands are probably all sticky and gross."

Chris laughed, plopping the rag into the empty bowl. "Fair enough."

They moved inside, and before Melinda headed into the living room to work on her own homework, she warned him, "Don't think you're getting up to your room unnoticed, by the way -- unless you orb up there and hope your door's shut. Dad's in the hallway fixing that light."

After Chris had ditched his cleaning materials and washed his hands, he walked to the bottom of the stairs and paused there. 

Wyatt had told their parents about his memories as soon as they had begun to trouble him, like that was just the normal thing to do. Oddly enough, the other Wyatt had been just as forthcoming when he had shown up in the past -- so Leo had said, anyway. Chris couldn't necessarily credit that Wyatt with great motives; it had undoubtedly been a tactic to gain their trust (and turn them against Chris).

But maybe there was a lesson there, all the same. Chris walked up the stairs.

When he reached the second floor, Leo was at the light switch, his work illuminated by a lamp with a cord trailing from the master bedroom. He was just finishing the last screw to secure the switch's plate.

"Done?" Chris asked.

Leo turned and gave Chris a tentative smile. "Yeah. Just need to turn the electricity back on, try it out."

"I'll get it."

As Chris orbed to the basement, he wondered if Leo thought he was fleeing, but the offer had been in a spirit of helpfulness. Leo couldn't orb anymore. Chris could get the job done in seconds. He flipped the only breaker that was off and returned to the same spot outside his bedroom.

"How about now?" he asked.

Leo tried the switch, and the light came on, shining steadily. "Thanks for the help," he told Chris.

"You're welcome." He had to get this over with. "Where's Mom?"

Winding up the lamp's cord, Leo said, "She's in the attic."

Chris pictured her looking through the Book of Shadows, trying to figure out what was wrong with her middle child -- and then he realized that thinking of himself as a middle child had just come to him without hesitation.

"I need to talk to her. And" -- Chris made himself say it -- "you, too."

"Glad to hear it," Piper said, descending from upstairs. "What do you want to talk about?"

Chris took a deep breath. "This afternoon, I mean, before we went to deal with Andras, I came back." He looked at Leo. "You saw the Elders send me back to my own time. Well, here I am."

They didn't look surprised -- just sympathetic and even a little relieved.

"Come here," Piper said, and pulled him into a hug.

Chris didn't have to explain that he'd rather not accidentally have Melinda be part of this conversation. That was understood, and the three of them ended up behind closed doors in the master bedroom. Chris told them what he'd told Wyatt in the garden, how what he was experiencing was different from what Wyatt had apparently gone through for years. But Chris could also assure them -- not with complete confidence, but with more confidence than he had felt hours ago -- that this life here and now was not lost to him.

"You don't have an amnesiac on your hands. Not really."

"And you'll tell us if you're having any problems with sorting out the memories?" Piper didn't give Chris time to hesitate before she changed that to a statement. "You _will_ tell us."

"Yes, all right," he promised. "Sorting it out is not a problem, I swear. Mostly. It's just ..."

"Wyatt?" Leo said quietly.

"He's so different, and I know that's what this was all for, so Wyatt could be different. And I see my brother, I do. He's new, but at the same time, I've known him all my life, haven't I? But I also saw my brother die yesterday. Earlier today, Leo, you and I were cleaning out his belongings from that hotel room. And before that, three days ago--" Chris shook his head. Did they even know? Had Phoebe told them?

Yes, she had, because his mother completed his words. "Three days ago, your fiancée died," Piper said gently.

"Yes. Those are my freshest memories." He took a deep breath. "But there are moments when I can look around and say this is good."

"It's what you worked for," Piper said.

"And anything that went wrong," Leo said, "was _not your fault_."

"Okay, but--"

"No. I mean it. Everything that happened, it's fresh to you, but we've had over twenty years to gain some understanding and acceptance. I do not blame you, and don't try to tell me that I do, got it?"

"I got it, Dad."

Raising his eyebrows, Leo smiled at that, and it wasn't because of the reluctant assurance, but in response to the word that had slipped out before Chris knew it -- "Dad." That was what was normal here and now. Maybe they still didn't get along, but the habit of calling his father "Leo" entirely belonged to the timeline Chris had left behind.

But Chris wasn't up for any bonding moments beyond that, so he changed the subject, asking, "The Elders let Wyatt keep his powers?"

"The Elders decided to put him on a kind of probation," Leo answered. "They didn't strip his powers, but said they would at any sign he was headed down the wrong path."

"That could easily have gone horribly," Chris said. "I mean, by the time Wyatt was down the wrong path, you think the Elders didn't try that? But he made sure his powers were protected."

"Lucky it worked out this time, then," Piper said.

"You're right. I'm sorry. Not expecting the worst may take getting used to."

"Sweetie, I hate to tell you this, but you weren't exactly an optimist yesterday either," she said with a fond smile. "But today, life is good. Your brother isn't evil, and you can also take some credit for defeating Andras today."

"Really? I thought we just got in the way of the Power of Three."

"You did take care of most of the demons before we got there, but there's more to it than that." She walked to her dresser and, from the recesses of the bottom drawer, she retrieved a small box and opened it. "There's this," she said, and handed Chris what she had pulled out of the box.

The piece of torn notebook paper was folded, but still bore evidence of long-ago crumpling. On it was his own handwriting: "Major attack on San Francisco ^and Kansas City planned for 2026. Find and vanquish before then."

Piper explained, "You left dirty clothes in the laundry room, remember? This was in your pocket. You probably meant to throw it away -- 'future consequences'? -- but screw that. I couldn't unread it and do nothing. Of course, you gave no indication of _who_ needed vanquishing, but Phoebe remembered the name Andras coming up between you and Cole during her little jaunt to the future. So we kept our eye out for him." She paused and opened the box again. "This was also in your pocket."

She put Bianca's engagement ring into his hand.

In the lamplight, the small circle gleamed, even after all these years, as Piper continued, "We didn't keep all the things you and Wyatt left behind in the past. But this -- I thought the choice whether to keep it or let it go should be yours to make."


	30. Chapter 30

Chris had always carried that ring around with him in the past -- a risky habit, given how much danger he used to put himself in, but it wouldn't have been exactly secure squirreled away in the backroom of P3. After months of keeping it safe, he had lost it in a moment of carelessness with laundry.

He could tell himself that the laundry had been stained with his dead brother's blood, at the end of a string of days of trauma, one after the other. But it still felt like his punishment for losing the ring was to lose the woman who had worn it.

He put the ring back in the box and hid it away in a drawer in his own room.

As the days and then weeks went by, the memories became ever easier to recover. Relaxing -- that was a different matter. In the life he had come from, he had most recently spent months racing against a deadline: before his own birthday, find and stop whatever had turned Wyatt. Before that, Chris's life had been consumed with a ragtag, hopeless resistance while the world went to hell.

Compared to that? School, pondering his job prospects (or lack thereof) after graduation, occasional demon-fighting -- they were nothing. An enormous weight had been lifted from Chris's shoulders, and it was strangely hard to find his balance without it.

Only a few days after he came back, a college friend (moreso than with his family, Chris had to work on not seeing these people as strangers) told him that ex-girlfriend Emily's new relationship had come crashing down already.

"I get the feeling she’s maybe thinking she can patch things up with you," the friend said. "And I really think that's a terrible--"

"Don't worry. _Not interested._ "

"Thank God. I didn't want to have to talk you out of it."

So there was at least one problem easily avoided. For one thing, whatever this friend had feared, Chris wasn't a complete doormat. But even if he hadn't been dumped, he didn't see how it could have worked out. Emily -- like all of the people at college -- didn't even know about magic. How could he possibly communicate to her what he was going through now?

Even among his own family, Chris didn't feel up to talking it over with everyone. He would eventually tell Melinda, as he had promised her, but for now, only Phoebe and Paige were brought in on it. Aside from his parents and Wyatt, his aunts were the only others with direct experience of those long-ago events, and so Piper filled them in.

Not that Phoebe would let it rest at that, of course. She would make Chris talk to her, and she finally cornered him at Piper's restaurant -- one more new/old place he needed to get reacquainted with. (Everyone there knew him, of course.) When he made it to Halliwell's on the first Friday evening after his return, Phoebe just happened to show up too. Or, more likely, she got wind of his plans and sought him out. Either way, she claimed a table for both of them and made him join her for dinner.

Piper took their order herself before turning them over to a waiter. She warned Phoebe, "Let him eat in peace."

Not much chance of that, but Chris didn't mind in the end. Phoebe had lived through the worst of it with him, yet, back in the past, they had scarcely had time to talk once she had been able, when Wyatt's wish had been lifted.

"I knew something was up with you," Phoebe told him, "when we were down in Andras's lair. You were just ... I was getting anger, grief, exhaustion, surprise, happiness, fear, all confused together and bouncing around in my head."

"Try living it."

She patted his hand and said, "But what I'm getting from you today is a whole lot better. I'm glad. You should enjoy this -- this world you helped create."

"I am ... but I still can't help think about what's missing. Who's missing."

"I know," she said gently.

He wasn't sure whom she thought he meant, but it seemed a good moment to ask: "Phoebe, what happened to Cole?"

"You mean did I get your message about a spell to pull someone from the cosmic void? Yes, Leo passed it on. But I didn't use the spell."

"Oh. Okay. I know you didn't want him back in your life, so--"

"I didn't use it because he asked me not to."

"He what? Why?"

"He knew you'd try to point me in the direction of that summoning spell. But he said he had to stay to help a friend. I have my suspicions about who that was, but I never found out for sure. All I could do was respect his wishes."

"So he helped someone else, too, and he helped me, and I changed the timeline, which kept him stuck there."

"No, he's not stuck there. It's a long story. Do you remember what happened to Prue?"

Chris hadn't remembered, until that moment. "Oh. Oh! Wait, hang on -- so he's stuck in that Nexus thing instead?"

"By his choice. He was trying to make amends, to take a chance at redemption. I think, in that other timeline, that's why he helped you, too."

"I think he wanted--" Chris stopped himself.

 _Revenge._ Cole had wanted revenge for Phoebe's death, right? That was what Chris always assumed. But maybe it wasn't that, not totally, at least. Maybe Phoebe knew better.

"I think," Chris said, "that he wanted to do the right thing."

* * * *

A couple months after Chris's "return," Wyatt was standing at the entrance to an alley, waiting for his brother. He had sent the message ten minutes ago, with coordinates to this private spot for orbing, even. But still no Chris. In between occasionally pacing a few feet to alternate keeping his eye on the alleyway and down the street, Wyatt decided to take the step of bothering their mother.

"Tell Chris to check his phone," his message to her read.

That worked. At last, orb lights lit up the air just beyond a dumpster, and then Chris was hurrying up to Wyatt, who now took a look around to make sure no one had noticed the strange, if mostly hidden, arrival. It was okay -- the few people nearby didn't turn their heads as they passed.

"Hey, what's going on?" Chris asked.

"Finally. You need to check your phone more often."

"It was on mute. What--"

"I swear, I'm going to find a magical way to make your phone blare an alarm at you even if it's on mute. Even if it's turned off. Or else get assigned as your charge, just so I can get through to you." At Chris's glare, Wyatt added with a grin, "Only if it's urgent. Come on."

Wyatt started down the street, toward the bright lights of a row of shops and restaurants, in the direction he had been trying to watch while keeping a lookout for Chris.

Chris followed, asking, "What are we dealing with here?"

"Dealing with? Oh, you mean demons. No, nothing like that. I've got something I want to show you."

At that, Chris halted. "You're kidding me. You know you can't just send messages saying, 'Urgent' in this family."

"It is urgent. Just not dangerous."

"Oh. Well, great, now Mom is all worried, too."

"I'll let her know once we get inside." Wyatt pulled Chris's arm and led him down the street, until they reached a bar with a fenced patio that lined the sidewalk.

"The urgent thing is ... drinking?"

"No, but you might want a drink -- I'm buying."

"Okay, fine." In a gesture of giving in and going with it, Chris waved his arms to tell Wyatt to keep leading the way, and they entered and weaved among the tables, working their way to the bar.

Chris waited until Wyatt had ordered two beers and the bartender had slid them over, before asking, "All right, what is all this about?"

Wyatt took a swig of beer, feeling like he could use a little liquid courage himself. Then he took Chris by the shoulders, and turned him about forty-five degrees so that he was looking out onto the patio's clusters of chattering, drinking people under strings of white lights.

"See the girl in the green hat?"

"Uh ... yes."

"She's in the way. Look at who she's talking to."

Frowning, Chris leaned over to get a view. As if on cue, the green-hatted girl, laughing at something, sat back in her chair, revealing the person sitting opposite her. 

Chris's eyes widened, his every muscle seeming to freeze. He said nothing. He maybe wasn't even breathing.

Wyatt said, "Her name's Bianca, right? I come here with co-workers fairly often, but I've never seen her here before. But when she walked in today, I had to get you here."

Seeming to suddenly realize that staring was a bad idea, Chris circled in his seat to take a drink from his own beer.

"What you do about it," Wyatt continued, "is up to you."

"Do about it?" Chris said, shaking his head. "You're saying I should walk up to this complete stranger like I don't know her?"

"I'm not saying you 'should' do anything. It may be a really bad idea to talk to her. Or this could be the universe's way of telling you that it's fate."

"Fate would have been if she walked into where I was, not here."

“And where were you?”

“Home.”

“Uh huh. Sounds like fate needed some help from me, then. Whatever works."

Chris stole another glance. "She looks happy. And alive."

And now they had touched on the issue that had made Wyatt almost lose his nerve on this while waiting by the alleyway. 

"Alive is good." Wyatt nodded slightly, but didn't look at Chris, instead thoughtfully turning his glass in the ring of water it had left on the bar.

After a moment, Chris said, with no accusation in his tone, "Yeah. It is good." 

Wyatt now met his eyes. "You haven't ever talked about her, and I could understand that. I wanted to show you that she's okay. I thought -- well, it's the least I can do."

"Thanks," Chris said. "I don't know what I'm going to do about it, but I am grateful."

"Wyatt!" a man's voice called from behind them.

They turned to see two men and a woman at a tall table nearby who were beckoning him over. Wyatt explained to Chris: "Co-workers. I told them my brother was joining me and I was going out to meet you. And now..."

One of the co-workers, Julia, was already there. "Hi!" she greeted Chris, and then tugged at Wyatt's sleeve. "Save us," she said in a low plea.

"And now Brandon is here," Wyatt completed his thought.

"Yes," Julia said with a scowl.

"My brother may want to join some other people here," Wyatt started, but Chris interrupted.

"No, it's okay. Go on, introduce me."

So they moved over to the table, and made the rounds of introductions. And soon Chris got introduced to why the arrival of Brandon was greeted with dread: his habitual complete conversational dominance. Today, some boss was being an idiot in failing to recognize Brandon's brilliance, and he felt the need to start the story from scratch to fill Wyatt in on the details.

Julia thought Wyatt could save the situation, and he did try to help the other two break into this tale, but it was difficult to steer it away from shop talk, which was bound to exclude Chris, who quickly lapsed into silence.

Ten minutes and finishing his beer was apparently what it took for Chris to reach his limit. He slid off his chair, and the movement finally effected an interruption of Brandon's monologue.

"Going somewhere?" Wyatt asked.

Both he and Chris automatically looked toward the patio -- to see Bianca and her friends scooting aside to make room for two men joining them.

Wyatt made a sympathetic grimace. "You've decided to take off?" he asked Chris.

"I've decided to get some fresh air. Sorry," Chris added vaguely to the others. And when he walked off, it was not toward the patio, but toward the exit.

"Looks like we drove him away," Julia said. 

"Don't take it personally."

"Oh, I'm not," she said with a significant look toward Brandon, who had decided to take the break in the flow to go to the bar and refill his drink.

"Chris is just -- It's really hard to explain. Romantic problems, I guess is the short version."

She accepted that with sympathy, just as more people arrived -- a few more co-workers, with a few of their friends. Chairs were brought up and tables were pushed together to make room, and in the midst of the shuffle, Wyatt ended up in a chair facing the bar. And in his direct line of sight, there was Bianca.

Their eyes briefly met.

Then the bartender was handing her three glasses of varying beverages, and she pulled them together in both hands and balanced them as she carried them back to her friends.

Within his own group, the expansion of the crowd made conversation less of a battle to get a word in edgewise -- power in numbers. But, just as Chris had been before he left, Wyatt was now completely sitting it out, half listening to the others while processing what had just happened.

For a flash, he had imagined he read fear in Bianca's eyes. And, then, almost as quickly, he recognized that he was wrong. It wasn't fear -- nothing so strong. A certain wariness, maybe, and he reasoned that could just be because she had noticed Wyatt and Chris looking over, and the attention was unwelcome.

What had unnerved him was how some part of him had presumed fear, how he had colored in her reactions here and now with memories of another life. In that life, seeing fear in her eyes had been expected, demanded -- worse, pleasurable. 

He remembered more about Bianca from that other life than about any other non-family member. Though he hadn't understood why for some time, she had stood out as important, even with that first memory: her mother offering up Bianca's services as an assassin. Not for hire, but gratis, to placate Wyatt. Cold and deadly though she was, Bianca had been the Phoenix coven's sacrificial lamb.

But she broke free. Wyatt had received no memory of how she'd met Chris -- maybe the other Wyatt never found out himself. But somehow his brother had won her over. Until Chris was gone, and Wyatt won her back.

He did not remember how that was accomplished, either. Or maybe, in this case, he refused to remember. Some mental self-preservation had slammed the door shut on the details, telling his other self: _No. You don't get to put that in my head._

Later, there had been that fight with Chris and Bianca in the attic. Killing her had been accidental, in self-defense. Wyatt had to give his other self that much, even if he might judge him for not feeling a sliver of regret, not a bit of compassion for Chris, left in the attic next to her corpse.

And she had never shown up in this timeline -- until tonight.

Wyatt had not been able to make meaningful amends for the deaths of Richard and June. Uncle Henry was right: there was nothing the legal system could do with his confession. All that had done was put a lingering unspoken strain between himself and Henry. Paige said Henry just needed a little time.

"And you?" Wyatt had asked her.

"I've had a couple decades, really. I've also had a little more experience than him in knowing about my own darker side. Ever heard of the Evil Enchantress?"

"No, who's she?"

"She's me. Or she was. And I learned from being her, learned how to be better, and so have you. I know that you wanted to somehow make things right for Richard and that other witch."

"They're the worst because what happened to them didn't get undone. But there's so much more he needed to make amends for, you don't even know."

"Maybe you're doing that by the way you live your whole life. Or, who knows, maybe magic will give you a way to right something, even one little thing, in some way you can't even imagine yet. Just don't miss the chance when it shows up."

It had looked like this was the chance. Chris was right, the odds of any romantic reunion there was possibly insurmountable. But just seeing her happy could bring some peace...

And just this fleeting sight of her might have to do, Wyatt realized -- because the next time he caught a glimpse of her group out on the patio, she was gone.

* * * *

After Chris had made his way through the crowded bar as quickly as he could without actually knocking people down, he veered off to the right outside, away from the gaggle of revelers -- people waiting for friends, flirting with someone they had just met and had no never-happened memories of. Lucky for them.

Next door, a clothing boutique had closed up shop, its lights lowered as a clerk vacuumed. Hoping he wouldn't be taken for a drunken loiterer and chased away, Chris leaned against the recessed doorframe. A couple or two strolled by, heading for the bar or a restaurant, but no one was lingering here, and he could grab a moment alone to clear his head. 

Under the best of circumstances, he would have wanted to flee, or at least find someone else to talk to, where the details of the conversation (such as it was) wouldn't completely go over his head. He didn't know any of the people and he couldn't follow the technicalities of their shared work. His brother wasn't designing flying witch-detecting probes in this reality, but he was following a career in computer engineering that put those skills into non-evil-overlord avenues.

Instead, Chris had sat there considering this new Bianca, while managing to refrain from openly staring at her again. Like most of the people at that bar, she was dressed in casual office-appropriate clothes (a far cry from the leather get-up he had last seen her wearing as Wyatt's employee). Realizing that those people with her were probably co-workers had made Chris suddenly feel impossibly, stupidly young. It was not about age -- age had meant nothing when they were fighting for their lives and the future, side by side. But now the gap in their life situations seemed very wide.

Hey, he protested to himself, he wasn't some kid -- he vanquished demons on a regular basis.

 _Demons._ That thought reminded Chris that neither he nor Wyatt had sent that reassuring no-demons-here message to Mom. And he had left his own phone sitting on his bed when he had answered Wyatt's summons. At this point, he could just orb home and tell her. Then come back here. Maybe.

But when he looked down the street, the coast was definitely not clear for magical exits. Emerging from the crowd at the entrance, Bianca was headed down the sidewalk, in his direction, though not purposely, that was obvious.

She was evidently looking for some quiet herself, for she was frowning at a phone in her hand. She made a few decisive taps and put it to her ear, halting not eight feet away from Chris, but with her back mostly to him as she gazed out into the street.

"I got your message," she told whomever was on the other end. "I didn't bail on you -- I told you I was busy tonight, remember? ... No, I'm not working late. Some co-workers invited me for drinks, and I accepted."

She paused, listening, then said, "Having a social life counts as busy."

He could just slip off to the side without her even noticing him, go back to the alley where he could orb away -- but Bianca's next word arrested his attention.

"Mother, this is the last time we're having this conversation. Just because I let you back into my life, doesn't mean I'll let you rope me into a job. I have a job. It doesn't involve--"

Apparently interrupted, Bianca put a hand to her forehead, her head bent as she listened.

When she spoke again, her voice was lower but fierce: "I don't care if you won't ask me to do the dirty work. You're still trying to make me a part of ... I said _no_."

So she had rejected the family business, the Phoenix heritage. She wasn't an assassin for hire; she refused that life.

He should have known. She had found her way toward good without him. _Because that's who she really is._ A clarity, and happiness, came over Chris that he hadn't felt in ages -- weeks, months, or years, depending on how he looked at it.

Maybe this was what fate meant to show him. She was not only alive -- she was forging her own path, and it was a good one. And she had the strength to stay on it. She was probably even happy. He could let her go, and feel content himself, knowing that this was her life.

"Yes, lunch on Sunday is fine," Bianca was saying. "I'm not trying to shut you out. But I'm warning you, if you start this up again, I'll walk right out of the restaurant."

Just then, the store clerk opened the door to leave, off work for the night. Bianca turned at the sound of the door, and as the clerk walked away with scarcely a glance at either of them, Bianca and Chris locked eyes.

"I've got to go," she told her mother, and ended the call. 

Chris could guess what she was thinking, because it was a calculation he had made many times himself: _Did I accidentally say anything about magic in front of this stranger?_

"Sorry," he said, "I was just ... I wasn't meaning to eavesdrop."

"No, it's okay. I just came out here to get away from the noise" -- with a tilt of her head, she indicated the bar they had both left. "If I'd wanted total privacy, I should have checked to see who was around."

She was kicking herself for not doing that very thing, Chris could tell. But she hadn't mentioned magic (though the mention of "dirty work" might have set off alarm bells to a mortal). Hoping to set her mind at ease, he focused on the completely normal aspect of the conversation.

"Family can drive you crazy," he said.

Grabbing the lifeline he had thrown her, she let out a breath and smiled. "Yes, they can. Though I probably sounded like a horrible daughter."

Chris shook his head. "No. You sounded like someone who stands up for what's right." As a shade of perplexity crossed her face, he hastened to add: "For what's right for you, I mean. For your own life."

She gave a slow nod, not looking like she bought his self-correction, but she seemed to have stopped worrying about what she might have given away regardless.

He continued, "You've got to strike out on your own sometime, right?"

"Is that what you're doing out here, hanging out on the sidewalk alone? You were in there, weren't you? With that group of people near the bar."

In that crowded bar, she had noticed him? "I -- yeah, I was. It's my brother, and his co-workers."

"Which one is your brother?"

"Tall, blond ... doofus."

Her chuckle was utterly familiar. "That’s too bad," she said. "What brought you out here?"

"Like I said, family can make you crazy. I needed a break from my brother. Okay, more needed a break from his friends, but still. They're his friends."

"You did look a little checked out over there."

"Hey, you would be too if you had to listen to Brandon pontificating. Uh, Brandon's one of the co-workers, not my brother."

"I know. It's Wyatt, right?"

Her smile had vanished, replaced with a cold, hard look that was also utterly familiar.

Chris froze. "How'd you--"

"Just tell me you two really are here for socializing, nothing else."

"Why wouldn't we be?"

"The Charmed Ones are pretty famous in certain circles, you know. Most of their kids are still too young to care about, but I recognized Wyatt Halliwell as soon as he walked in. Then when I saw other people had joined him -- I thought you must be the other one."

"The other one..." He could hear the dejection in his own voice.

"The other one old enough to worry about. Did you follow me out here?"

"No, I swear! We are here for socializing. I came out because one of Wyatt's co-workers is insufferable and I needed a break. I was here first -- I'd tell you to ask the store clerk if he hadn't left for the night."

A fractional softening of her expression -- she looked like she might, against her will, just believe him.

"Listen," Chris said, "I'm sorry again for eavesdropping, I didn't mean to -- but from what I heard, we don't have anything to worry about from you. We don't go looking to pick magical fights with people who are just enjoying drinks with friends, okay?"

"I'm not a demon, by the way."

"I didn't think you were. Demons don't normally argue with their mothers, then agree to meet for lunch."

"No, demons argue with their mothers, then agree to meet to fight it out to the death." She allowed herself the tentative return of her smile, then said, "Sorry, I just -- I have to be careful. And maybe my mother's influence has made me more paranoid than I need to be, but it's hard to strike out on my own if I keep bumping into the past, you know?"

"I know."

Bianca's phone, still in her hand, chimed. She pressed her lips together and wearily raised it, probably expecting her mother again. But once she looked at the screen, that fleeting expression vanished.

"It's one of my co-workers, wondering when I'm coming back."

"You'd better go -- back to your social life."

She nodded, seemed to hesitate, then said, "Okay."

With a small wave, she turned and walked away. This could be the last time he'd ever see her, and he found himself noticing how her long hair was darker. Turned out she went with her natural color when she was _not_ on the run in an apocalyptic world.

She weaved her way through the people loitering outside the bar's entrance -- these people with their uncomplicated, linear lives, people who, in another time, might have been dead, might have been openly terrorized by demons. Bianca passed them by, drawing no special notice -- the world oblivious to the part this woman had played in saving it. 

There was a minor traffic jam at the door, held up by a couple of kids who looked too young to enter, arguing with the bouncer. Instead of squeezing her way past as others were doing, Bianca paused there, looking up at the stars.

Chris raised his head, too, and maybe she was looking at the city lights -- they drowned out the stars. He leaned back against the door frame, and when he brought his gaze back down, his heart got a jolt. She was walking back. Not wandering back, poking at her phone again, but deliberately, right toward him.

She was about six feet away when she stopped. She had the look of someone squaring herself to be brave and bold, all those things she was already.

"I wanted to--" she started, then asked as if the thought just occurred to her, "What's your name?"

"Chris."

"Chris. I'm Bianca." She took a deep breath and plunged on: "And I know I probably made it sound like I want you to stay far away from me and maybe you're thinking you should, but if you decide to go back in ... I can't promise my co-workers are any more tolerable than your brother's. It's a new job, I don't know them too well yet. But there's a seat open next to me."

She didn't seem to read his stunned silence as complete rejection, because she gave a hopeful smile.

"Okay," she said. "We're on the patio. Maybe I'll see you."

She turned again and this time disappeared into the throng out front, into the bar, where she'd be out on the patio with her co-workers.

Maybe there was no way it could work a second time. There were so many things against the idea of the two of them that even she recognized it, and she didn't even know the half of it.

He had just told himself that he could see her happy and let her go, knowing she was forging her own path.

She was -- and she had just asked him to follow. He could let her go, but if he didn't have to...

Chris straightened up, pushing himself off the wall, and walked toward the bar's door, toward the lights, and, heading inside, toward a new possible future. 

****

**The End**


End file.
